A New Dawn
by Jack Spheniscidae Enterprises
Summary: After the retirement of Bruce Wayne, it falls upon his former ward to carry on where he left off. In his first year as the Dark Knight, Dick Grayson must adjust to life as the new Batman and contend with enemies old and new. Currently on hiatus until further notice.
1. Old Endings

Disclaimer: I own nothing and seek to gain no profit - all of the copyrighted characters used in this story belong to DC and Time Warner - so please, call your lawyers off.

AN: I've always found that writing fanfiction for comic books have been the hardest for me. There's just a greater sense of pressure to do well, I feel, compared to everything else I've written fics for. Whenever I've tried in the past, I've only managed to make it halfway. But regardless, I have spent a good deal of time formulating my own incarnation of the Batman and larger DC Universe that blends inspiration from multiple comic and media incarnations for its lore and storylines, which I've dubbed Earth-64.

Hopefully, this will be the first in a series of Earth-64 fics and that I will put out a story that you will enjoy. I will try to update as frequently as I can, but with two other active fics atm, I may not be able to guarantee a steady schedule - so apologies in advance for any possible long breaks between chapters.

Keep in mind as that this is is an AU, character origins and personalities and events, etc. may be different from what you are normally accustomed to.

Rating may go up to an M as the story progresses.

* * *

><p><em>One Month Ago<em>

"Let the boy go, Thomas."

The Batman emerged from the Batmobile. He was limping, breathing heavily, his suit torn by the grueling duel he had fought earlier. But in spite of his wounds, the aching muscles that had endured the nightly battles for far too long and threatened to fail him, he continued to stagger forward. Twin Batarangs clutched in his hands. Forward towards the trenchcoat-adorned man that stood at the opposite end of the alleyway, his head hidden by white bandages. The man held a knife in one hand, a mere sliver away from the throat of the hostage child he kept in a tight hold.

"Dad... Da" The child cried but the man hit the boy to shut him up. The Batman growled as he continued to advance.

"Recognize this place, Bruce?" The man asked the Batman. He pointed at a boarded-up back-exit. The alley was decrepit, having decayed for decades. "Of course you do. All your favorite childhood movies were seen right over there. One of them, I recall, was Zorro, wasn't it?"

"You were my friend, Thomas. Why have you done this? Killed so many people... allied yourself with the worst of the worst."

"You had everything I always wanted, Bruce. Parents who loved you. Gorgeous women falling into your arms at the snap of a finger. An endless pot of gold. And you never had to work a damn bit for any of it. Joseph Chill did everything for you, didn't he? Bang bang, the Wayne fortune - butler and all - now was in your grubby little hands. If I didn't know you any better, I'd sworn you'd paid him to off your folks."

"Money? All this madness you've created is because of money?" Batman roared at the man.

"It's not about the money. Did you know how my father really died, Bruce?" He asked Batman. "Car crash? That's what you remember it as, don't you? It was... but I cut the brakes. The fortune would've been mine. But along comes your father with his surgery... and my mother lives. I couldn't pull off anything like that again. People would've gotten suspicious. Even as a kid, I understood that. So I had to wait my entire life for the fortune that was rightfully mine while yours fell right into your lap!"

"Tommy... you're insane..."

"Insane? Look at you, middle-aged and still dressed up like a goddamn flying rat." The man frowned. "But regardless... when I found out the truth about the Batman, I knew what I had to do. Destroy both of my enemies with one stone."

"Last chance, Tommy."

"Thomas Elliot isn't here right now, Bruce. You should know how good I am with flesh underneath the knife..." Laughing, the man undid the bandages with his knife. Batman's eyes widened in shock as he saw what was underneath the bandages. His own face, looking right back at here. Right down to the last wrinkle, the last gray hair. "When Batman and Bruce Wayne are dead, I will claim what I've craved for so long. And a lovely wife and daughter as well. I should gun both you and your brat down right now. But as you did say, we were friends once. The only goddamn person that I could relate to, Bruce. Maybe I should grant you one breath of mercy."

He shoved the boy towards Batman. "Enjoy it, Bruce. Only one of us is leaving Crime Alley alive."

"It doesn't have to end this way, Tommy."

"Tommy isn't here, Bruce. I just told you that." The face that resembled his scowled. "It's Hush."

Hush moved faster than Batman could. His son did not see what his former-captor was doing. He ran towards the security of his father. Batman opened his mouth to shout out a warning for the boy to duck as he threw his batarangs at Hush, but two shots rang out in the night. A body collapsed on the cold pavement, the sickening sound of a skull cracking as it hit the ground hard, fresh blood spilling from the wounds in the child's back. Holding two smoking pistols in his hands, Hush smiled.

"Bit of Déjà vu, Bruce?" Hush asked him. "For a so-called superhero, you sure seem to have trouble saving those close-"

The batarangs struck him, knocking him back. Before Hush had a chance to orient himself, the raging demon in the batsuit overwhelmed him, the spreading cape enveloping the two men.

The sound of sirens zoning on Crime Alley once more filled the cacophony of the night.

* * *

><p><em>The Wayne Manor Family cemetery, now<br>_

Bruce Wayne had been to many burials in his lifetime. Since the night the bat had flown in through the broken window in his father's study, as the wounded Bruce's hand lay on the bell that would alert Alfred to his beaten condition, Bruce Wayne had been to the funerals of many of his friends and loved ones. He knew the risks of what he did, that this was no game that he played. But the burials never got easier. Especially when it had been a death in the family.

Dr. Thomas Elliot. The man had once been one of Bruce's childhood friends. During the years before that fateful night outside of the movie theater. Yet it had seemed that in the time since their childhood, his former friend had developed a hatred of Bruce. And although Bruce knew not the full details of his former friend's plot, he had somehow found out that Bruce Wayne was the masked hero Batman. Thomas Elliot had created an identity for himself called Hush, and he had made alliances with Gotham's deadly rogues in his scheme to destroy both Batman and Bruce.

Bruce's fist clenched as he thought back to the final days of the battle he had waged against Hush. It had been a desperate gambit to stop the slew of Hush's allies. Using his knowledge of Batman's identity, Hush had psychologically toyed with him. The bandaged madman had been a step ahead of Batman the whole time. And on the day when the battle had ended, Hush had gone after Bruce's family.

He and a disguised Clayface had attacked the manor. Batman had sped home in time just as the outnumbered Selina Kyle Wayne attempted to hold off the Wayne family's would-be attackers… but he had not defeated Clayface fast enough to stop the real Hush from making off with his son Bruce Jr.

In the last hour, Hush had taken his son to Crime Alley. The spot where everything had begun forty-two years ago. In the end, Batman – Bruce Wayne – had not been fast enough. And with the pull of a trigger, everything ended. As he saw the body of his son, not even a decade in age yet, collapse to the cold ground where his parents had fallen decades ago with the mocking leers of Hush, Bruce had lost control as he overwhelmed his former friend.

As the rage subsided, and Bruce finally realized what he had done to what had been Thomas Elliot, he realized that even in death, Hush had won. He had defeated the Batman by making him break the solemn vow that Bruce had sworn, a line that he had been tempted to cross so many times crossed at last.

* * *

><p>The attendance of the funeral was small. Bruce had taken large steps to ensure that his son's burial would be private. No media interference, no paparazzi with their cameras or television crews. No helicopters hovering in the sky. The only people present were those were family and friends. And all who had not been tied up in protecting the world from cosmic threats or battling crime had made good on the invitations to attend the funeral of Bruce Wayne, Jr.<p>

The mood was somber. It rained, and the sky above Wayne Manor was hidden by thick layers of gray clouds. The crowd was silent as a pastor named Norman McCoy delivered a eulogy to the deceased Wayne. Bruce felt Selina's hand clutching his shoulder, a single tear crawling down her cheek as she tried to keep herself composed. Bruce kept his hand upon his daughter Helena. His last child. He kept a reassuring hand on his daughter's shoulder, to let her know that eventually, the sun would rise again. But he didn't know how long the sun would set for the Waynes. On the surface, Bruce Wayne appeared stoic. Controlled… but inside, his emotions bubbled like a boiling cauldron.

Bruce felt a strong finger tap his shoulder. Bruce turned his head. Clark, with an apologetic look in his eyes, wiping water from his glasses. Clark leaned over and whispered to Bruce.

"Bruce, I'm sorry. I know this is hard for all of you. I shouldn't leave. I should be giving your support when you and your family need it the most. But there's something happenin-"

"Go ahead. I understand." Bruce gave his oldest friend in the superhero community a sincere nod, and Clark walked off. The Man of Steel knew better than to disrupt the funeral by going up, up, and away in the middle of the solemnities. Clark turned back

For the rest of the funeral, Bruce remained silent in his grief. Yet as Bruce Jr's coffin was lowered into the ground, and dirt shoveled to fill the gap, he was briefly blinded as his eyes filled with tears. So this was what had become of his son. Another tombstone amongst more. Mother… Father… Jason… one more life to the pile taken by the filth that had rooted itself too deeply in the city that he had sworn to protect.

There was no anger, no desire in his blood for revenge like the days that had followed Jason's death. Hush had done to him what Carmine Falcone, Ra's Al Ghul, The Joker, Bane, and the rest of the villainy that he had faced through his career all failed to do. He had succeeded in breaking the Bat.

The surviving trio of the Wayne family lingered at their son's fresh gravesite alone as the rest of the congregation dispersed. He didn't blame them, the emerald knights and scarlet speedsters or Amazons for leaving as they did. There was still crime to fight, galaxies to protect, plots to foil. The world needed them more than he did. But what would become of the Batman?

* * *

><p>The elderly Alfred Pennyworth, who had been there at the beginning and had seen the end, led Selina and Helena back to the manor. The old butler tried to console them as best as he could. He kept his head bowed, with a quick glance back at Master Bruce who remained towering over his son's grave. He remembered the effect that Jason Todd's death had had on Bruce… on Batman. He worried what would become of Bruce now that Gotham's dark side had yet again claimed someone close to him. And he prayed that in his advancing age, he would not have to bury Bruce as well in the end.<p>

"You know, it isn't healthy for men in middle age to hang around when it's raining this hard. Clark and Alfred joke that you're going to outlive us all, but…"

Bruce gave Dick Grayson that look. Dick Grayson didn't finish the sentence, and his face darkened. Bruce Wayne and his former ward faced each other from opposite ends of the Wayne Family cemetery.

"What do you want, Dick?"

"You know full well that Hush didn't act alone. You got most of them… but there are still a few running loose in the streets of Gotham. Like the Joker…"

"Go ahead, Dick. Find them. Bring them in. I know you're fully capable of doing it by yourself. Or call in a few of your old friends from the Titans to help you."

"These people helped the guy that killed your son, and you don't want to bring them to justice? Come on, Bruce… the two of us, just like the old days. We'll bring them in together."

"I know you want to help me cope with my grief, Dick, by doing this. But Hush… he succeeded with his death. He made me want to kill him… and God help me, I actually did." Bruce looked at his hands. "I swore never to take a life, no matter what despicable degenerate it belonged to. That was the fine line between heroism and vigilantism. I became Batman all those years ago to inspire the good people of Gotham City, but what good can I show them if I become just as ruthless as the scum we fight?"

"You killed one man, Bruce. Just one man in all the years you've been Batman."

"One man. That's where all killers in history have started from. Just one man... I've tried so hard to preserve life, remember where the thin line began, but I finally crossed it, Richard. I fear... that in future cases, like Hush's death, killing my enemies will be too easy of a choice for me to make now that I've done it."

"He killed your son, Bruce. He would've killed your wife and daughter as well, if you hadn't stopped him."

"Does it justify what I did to Hush? He should've been punished by the law… not by my own hands. Revenge makes no difference."

"Dammit, Bruce! Don't tell me you're just going to quit like this!" Dick tried to keep his voice low. "You're the one who taught me to never give up! That we only fall so we can learn to get up and keep fighting!"

"I'm not retiring to hide away in my manor. I will still do what I can to help Gotham and the world. I'm still Bruce Wayne. There are still things that need to be overseen like Batman Incorporated. Technology that needs to be financed… but after breaking my codes, I don't think I'm fit to continue on as Batman."

"Gotham and the world need the Batman too, Bruce."

"I may be walking away, Dick, but Batman isn't… no matter what, Batman will never die." Bruce walked over to Dick, and put his hands on the man's shoulders. "Listen to me, Dick. One favor. Take over where I left off."

"Why me, Bruce? You want me to be the Batman? But…"

"You were like a son to me, Dick." Bruce smiled sadly. "Back when you were Robin, back when it was just the two of us and later us with Barbara patrolling the rooftops and alleyways… I didn't just appreciate you for your assistance in fighting crime. I also enjoyed having you around. You kept me from being consumed by what the city had to throw at us, what lengths we had to go to and what sacrifices we had to make to keep it safe. You kept me from becoming too dark of a dark knight. I will always appreciate you… love you as my own flesh and blood… for that."

A single tear rolled down Bruce's cheek. The clouds were breaking up, the fall of rain slowing down.

"Forgive me, Dick. For putting all of this into your hands."

"I don't know if I'm ready to fill your shoes, Bruce. You were the Batman…"

"You're a boy no more, Dick. You're a man now. You're my equal… may have even surpassed me. Now, Dick, go and prove it."

"I'll… I'll give it some thought."

"Good…" Bruce turned and walked away, back towards the manor. Dick Grayson swallowed, going over the implications of what Bruce had just dragged him into. He had never really liked the idea of him being Batman's heir. That was one of the reasons why he had dropped the mantle of Robin and became Nightwing. To become independent from whatever legacy had been bestowed upon him and find his own path. But he knew how vicious Gotham could get, what new evils the city could dredge up whenever one thought they had seen the worst. The people of Gotham needed their hero, the man that would give them a reason to look up at the skies with hope as his symbol shined on the night clouds. There was no convincing Bruce to put on the cape and cowl with his heart and spirit broken as they were… but Batman could not die.

The clouds were crawling away. The sun shined down upon Dick Grayson as he stood over the graves that dotted the small patch of ground before him. He waited until he was all alone. Briefly, he thought he saw something in the sky above. A red and blue blur. Like it was watching over, looking for something. But it was gone just as fast as he thought he had seen it. He then walked away. It was time to begin making some moving arrangements.

* * *

><p>Midnight. The full moon hung over Gotham. Bruce Wayne walked around the Batcave. Everything that he looked at had a memory tied to it. Memories of his vigilante career that simultaneously felt like it had gone on for a lifetime and it had just begun. Some good, some bad... some ugly. He had sworn over the graves of his parents to battle the injustice that had taken their lives, but then, he had no idea just how far he would see his war on crime go. And yet, it was finally coming to a close, his active role in superhero community. But still, he would try to do what he could do to help. He'd go and see if Oracle would need an extra hand in running the ambitious Batman Incorporated project that had launched four years ago tomorrow.<p>

But first, he had a book to close. Without smiling, Bruce Wayne solemnly hoisted the tarp over the Batmobile.

He shut down the Batcomputer, and his head was downcast as the display screens and lights before him flickered before turning black. He remained still as the beeping sounds ceased. Slowly, he pulled his final tarp over the Batcomputer, enshrouding the machine behind a featureless blanket.

Walking past display cases of former iterations of the Batsuit and gadgets that he had used, he walked towards a storage rack that was emerging from the ground before him from an opening that slid out with the press of a button. In the center was the Batsuit that he had worn in those bitter, final hours. Bruce took off the pieces of the Batsuit: suit, cape and cowl, and the utility belt all went with him.

Before he left, he took one final look at the memorial for a fallen hero that he had erected in this cave fourteen years ago. His Batcave would be going dormant… it had been the Batman's lair… the Dark Knight's base of operations. But Bruce Wayne no longer had any use for it.

That night, Bruce Wayne lit a funeral pyre for Batman as he had known him. Silently contemplating, the man stood alone as the fire burned the black cape and cowl with pointed ears that Gotham's criminals had grown to fear. He did not look away as the flames consumed the black symbol that was painted over the yellow oval. The symbol of the Batman. Only when the last of the embers had faded away into the night did he walk away.

* * *

><p>AN: Suggestions, thoughts, and the like would be appreciated.<p> 


	2. New Beginnings

_Four months later_

Since the last sighting of the Batman months ago, word on the street had spread that the grim guardian of Gotham had at last met his end. Rumors were just rumors, but the backbone of crooks all across Gotham had begun to grow.

A sleek black car slowed to a stop as they approached the entry gates at the southern dockyards. It was followed by several cars of similar paintjobs and models. The attendant, a sleazy-looking man in a coffee-stained work uniform who clearly was not pleased to be working the entrance at this late in the night, poked his head out.

"Christ… what the hell are you shmucks doing here so late? Show your identification or get the f-" He never got the chance to finish his sentence. The driver of the lead car rolled down his window and he leaned out, a silenced 9mm pistol pointed at the attendant. The attendant, eyes bulging wide in shock, didn't even try to run before the bullet made its mark right between his two eyes. One more night in Gotham, another body added to the pile.

"Was that necessary?" The man sitting shotgun with the shotgun in his hands asked.

"We all know who paid his real payroll at this hour." The driver said. "And as Ma Bertinelli says, every one of Wesker's men we put in the grave is a bullet well spent."

"The matriarch ain't tryin' to incite a full-blown gang war, is she?"

"She says Gotham has been ruled by the freaks for too long and now that the Batman's out of the way, it's time for the respectable breed of criminal to take back control. Personally, I don't give a damn who controls this stinking city. Whatever puts the dough in my pocket."

The driver reloaded his weapon.

"Got the gas and matches?"

"Why wouldn't I? Forget even a single scrap of the plan, and Ma Bertinelli will have our heads on platters in an hour. And you know, I like my head."

Then something dropped down on the hood of the car, denting it.

"What the hell? A set-up?"

"No-"

A black hand made of steel smashed the glass of the front window.

"HOLY S-"

Both men screamed as strong fingers tightened around their necks and dragged them out.

* * *

><p>"Get in position, ya slow gastards! We ain't got all night!" The wooden dummy, dressed up in the fashion of a 1920s gangster complete with a cigar and Thompson submachine gun, barked orders as similarly dressed henchmen stood on the ground with their Tommy guns aimed at the large warehouse door, waiting for it to open. Behind them was a large pile of cash that would grow to fill the entire warehouse if it continued to grow at the rate it did.<p>

"Mr. Scarface, I don't think it's a very good idea, all of us standing behind the door like this. What if Bertinelli's men know if we set up an ambush?" The balding, portly and bespectacled man holding the dummy asked.

"Aw, shaddup an' quit worryin' or it'll be yer neck." Scarface slapped his Ventriloquist. "Gertinelli thinks we's a guncha morons just cause youse gots yer hands up my ass the whole time. Think we ain't gone expect her to try an' take our million dollar gucks right here! But the Scarface gang ain't the giggest gang in the South end for no reason!"

"Y-yes, I'm s-sorry, Mr. Scarface. Please stop yelling at me!"

"Sometimes I forget youse supposed to be the grains of my operation, ya spineless fatso. Grr… geez, what the hell's takin' them dumb Gertinelli boys so long to get here?"

"Mr. Scarface…" The Ventriloquist nervously began. "Maybe Ms. Bertinelli changed her mind about trying to move in on our turf…"

"Haw haw, that's funny! I didn't know ya had any turf!"

Before the Ventriloquist could respond, there was the sound of glass shattering. Then the brightly lit room was plunged into darkness.

"What the hell?" One of the button men asked.

"Wassa matter, doc? Scared of a little glack-out?"

"No, I swear something blew out our lights!"

Then the sound came. Like giant wings of leather taking flight. One of the button men yelped and they could hear whooshing air he was hoisted up. They began to fire their weapons blindly, the sparks from gunfire hectically bringing unstable light to the pitch-black warehouse. Through the flashes, they could all see the giant monster gliding through scaffold to scaffold as their bullets flew by it. Screams continued as the monster dipped downwards in its arc and took more of their number.

"Stop firin' and wastin' bullets brought with my gucks, ya glind morons! Youse got dose flashlights for reasons, ya dummies!" Scarface barked, and on command the button men ended their blind fire and began to fan out. But even as they shined their bright beams of light across the dark warehouse, they saw no sign of the black creature that had already picked off many of them.

"Mr. Scarface, you don't think that it's him, do you? The Bat-"

"The Gatman's dead! I swore to ya, Hush capped 'im for good!" Scarface shouted back, slapping his Ventriloquist again.

One of the button men, his heart beating fast and his hands sweaty as he held the handle of his Tommy gun, slowly walked forward as he went underneath a rafter. Suddenly, a thin and wiry rope wrapped around his neck. He only had time to utter off a choked scream before he was dragged upwards and left hanging, his feet kicking wildly.

With each passing minute, the button men continued to disappear into the shadows.

"Where the hell are you?" The last man screamed as he walked with his back pressed against a wall, frantically shining his flashlight everyone he could see. His legs tightened. Nervously, he slowly inched to the corner bend of the entrance to the overseer's office. He slowly began to scan the shadowy room. "I'll kill you, I swear!"

"Then show me what you got." An inhuman, guttural voice told him.

"Wh"

He had no time to react as something blew up. Had he chosen to shine his light on the window of the office, he'd have seen gel sprayed in the outline of a bat. What sort of gel was it? Explosive. Not enough to send a body to pieces, but enough to leave one with the worst hangover in the morning. A window he was right in front of. Screaming, the man was sent flying into the pile of cash and he was still as money began to tumble over him.

"Aw, to hell with dis!" Scarface began to fire his Tommy gun wildly, all across the room, certain that one lucky bullet would cut their assailant to shreds.

"Show him what we're made of, Mr. Scarface!" The Ventriloquist said to the dummy, his voice supportive.

"Hey, shaddup, ya glatthering sycophant! I don't needs youse help heres! And what do youse means when youse says, we?"

Scarface fired his gun dry.

Then the Ventriloquist felt a finger tap his shoulder. And the voice he dreaded spoke directly into his ear.

"You're a talented man, Mr. Wesker. Shouldn't you be working birthday parties with that wooden doll of yours instead of bank robberies?"

The Ventriloquist and his hard-boiled dummy both screamed as they turned and gazed into the maw of hell itself.

* * *

><p>Hours later, as the sun was beginning to rise, the cop cars began to pull into the dockyards. They congregated in front of the warehouse. Poised for a stand-off, some of the uniformed men and women waited behind the cover of their vehicles. Pulling in right now was an unmarked car. As it screeched to a halt, a tall red-headed man dressed sharply in a tie and suit stepped out. Veteran homicide detective Jim Corrigan examined the scene.<p>

"What's up with the stand-off? No one pointing guns at us, as far as I can tell."

The beat cop who had called in the situation pointed to some tied up men who had been gathered around a lamppost. Their heads hung limply, their eyes were dull and locked into the distance. "We aren't a rush to rush in because none of us know what's on the other side of that door."

"Those Helena Bertinelli and Arnold Wesker's men?"

"Yeah. Well, I know which ones are Wesker's. The guys dressed like gangsters from the old movies… Bertinelli's, I don't really know. Nothing to tell them apart from every other gang in this damn part of town that does their business dressed like that."

"How keen of you." Corrigan told the beat cop sarcastically. "Keep up the good work and you might just make it all the way to homicide, Officer Blake."

Detective Corrigan strolled towards the warehouse. "Why don't we get this open?"

When they got the door rolled open, there was a curious sight waiting for them. A few more tied-up goons, and scattered piles of stolen cash. In front of it all was Arnold Wesker, sobbing as he cradled the headless body of his dummy. The head, smashed in as if something had stomped on it, was nearby.

"Mr. Scarface, he killed my Mr. Scarface…" The Ventriloquist sobbed.

"Cheer up, Mr. Wesker. You'll just build another one first thing after they let you out of Arkham… just like every other time Batman's busted one of your schemes for the past fifteen years." Jim Corrigan informed the sobbing crime boss as officers put him in cuffs and scooped up the remains of his dummy as evidence.

"What the hell was he crying about?" Officer Blake asked Corrigan as they walked out of the warehouse.

"You haven't been here long, have you, rookie? But still, you must've heard about one of the GCPD's unofficial affiliates…"

"But the papers said…"

"Well, looks like the papers have been talking to the wrong morgues then. Because…"

* * *

><p>"…The Dark Knight has returned!" The announcer on the TV screen announced as she read from a report. "This morning, Gotham's finest discovered a startling scene at the southern dockyards. While there has been no official comment made by veteran GCPD Commissioner Gordon, longtime residents of Gotham surely will recognize this as…"<p>

It was a sleazy bar, one of Gotham's less-than-fine drinking establishments in a neighborhood with a heavy history of crime that hadn't subsided even with the dawn of the Batman back in the eighties…

"Aw, geez. Just when I thought I could start sleeping soundly again." One of the patrons rubbed his head as long strands of his beard dipped into his beer. Shaking his head, he lifted his mug and chugged down his drink.

"It was good while it lasted…" His drinking mate shook his head. He'd personally come across the Batman a long time ago, when he and two of his friends had tried to lift a TV set from somebody's apartment right before the Batman swooped down like a goddamn dragon on them. His friends had chickened out after that, went clean. But he… well, where he was said it all.

At the counter, the bartender was cleaning glasses with not even minimal effort, when the sole customer sitting on the stools piped up. The man, with a half-finished shot of whiskey in his hand and an empty bottle laid out in front of him, wore a dark purple hat and overcoat. He smiled as he heard the TV broadcast. Of course. It had been too terrible to be true, the news of what that new boy Hush had done. It could never have happened. His darling would never have gone out like that.

"Hand me another bottle of the Shameless Lady, will you?"

"Ya still haven't paid me for the first bottle. Hand me two damn Hamiltons and I'll give ya the Lady."

"Put it on my tab, buster."

"You think I'm gonna just let some punk off of the street waltz in here and give him a ta"

"Punk? A goddamn punk? Clown is one thing. Homicidal lunatic is another. I'd even feel honored to be called degenerate filth… ooh was the Batman so creative… but punk… do I look like a goddamn punk to you?" The man rose, and he smashed his bottle against the bartender's bald head. He leapt over the counter.

"What is this world coming to, when proprietors are calling their customers punks? You need a lesson in manners, it seems! Hee hee!" He asked as he stabbed the man repeatedly in the back of his head with the broken end of the bottle. When he was done, he gave the body one final kick and then took a bottle of whiskey and had a sip directly from the bottle. He let out a satisfied ah.

"You maniac! What the hell do you're doing?"

"Get down, man! Can you see that's the Joker?"

The man before them was tall and lanky. His skin was an unnatural hue of white, black make-up spread around his eyes, slicked-back and subtly receding hair colored dark green, and scarred lips painted bright red with lipstick. A green suit vest with a flower pinned to it beneath his coat. His lips curled into a smile, revealing ghastly yellow teeth.

"Heh… good to know that even in a time like this when the hottest new thing is forgotten a week later, the people still recognize and appreciate the classics."

Then the Joker's smile turned into a frown.

"But still, I suppose that rude service can only come from one thing… the customer. I suppose you all need a lesson in etiquette too."

"Jesus Christ, no!"

The Joker had pulled out a revolver and pulled the trigger. But instead of a gunshot, a small flag had popped out and unfurled, revealing a cartoonish banner with the word _**Bang!**_ scrawled on it. The Joker, rather irritatedly, looked down at his gun and frowning.

"Again? Damn, so many years in the business and I should really get around to labeling these things. Oh well, you can tell your family and friends that today you have had the rare pleasure of… almost being killed by the Joker."

The patron whom the Joker had pointed the gun at began to breathe in relief, his heartbeat pounding like a jackhammer. But then the Joker's lips curled into a smile yet again and he raised the same gun, and pulled the trigger again. With a bang, the bullet slammed into the man's head and his body fell backwards.

The Joker began to laugh maniacally. "An oldie, but a goldie! They fall for it every time! Ha!"

Someone tried to make a run for the door, but the Joker gunned him down. He grinned, eying all of the people huddling in fear.

"And now… time for the opening act."


	3. Into the Night

"Like Master Bruce, you certainly do know how to make a first impression."

These were the first words Dick Grayson heard as he blinked his eyes open, and yawned. It took him a few seconds of orientation to remember that this wasn't the modest flat he lived in Bludhaven as Nightwing, but rather the glitzy penthouse atop of the Wayne Foundation building amongst the other high-rising skyscrapers in Gotham City. All built and paid for by Bruce Wayne.

"Alfred? What are you doing here?" Dick asked the old butler who was organizing the scant possessions that he had brought over from Bludhaven.

"Master Bruce thought you'd appreciate a bit of company and perhaps guidance while you're getting used to your new surroundings."

"Well, the company definitely is appreciated. Damn, this place is too big for one man alone…" Dick commented as he examined the penthouse.

"There's an empty room in Wayne Manor if these new accommodations prove unsatisfactory, Master Richard." Alfred handed Dick a cup of coffee, which he gratefully took. "Although, it only recently was vacated… for reasons I am sure of which you're aware."

"No, I think this is better than the comforts of out-of-the-city Wayne Manor. I think it'll do me better as Batman… to be in the city. Living in it rather than observing it from my little palace. Keeps me closer to… you know."

"I see, Master Richard. Although…" Alfred bent over slowly and picked up the scattered pieces of Dick's Batman suit, which had been messily strewn about the floor near his bed. "…I suppose it would be rather compromising for the Batman to choose this as his manner of costume display. Suppose the maid walks in, Master Richard?"

"I didn't hire a maid. Unless you count as one, Alfred."

"Hmph. Sometimes it seems that I'll be picking up after you and Master Bruce forever…" Alfred shook his head. "But while Master Bruce was kind enough to send you the suit and necessary equipment, he certainly did not intend for you to leave them strewn across your new home like a playroom. Shall I show you where to hang your cape, sir?"

"Go ahead, Alfred. Damn, this is strong coffee. All the winks are out of my system with one sip."

"Old Pennyworth family secret, sir." Said Alfred with a wink as he walked towards a large flatscreen TV set. The channel was broadcasting a report of the Batman's late night bust at the docks. He reached for a remote, and then hit a combination of buttons on the remote.

"What's the code, Alfred?"

"One nine three nine. And to prevent an inevitable house guest from discovering Dick Grayson, Gotham's orphan prince's secret, the secret door won't open unless you speak the code into this part of the remote." Alfred showed him. "Master Bruce has designed it to vocally recognize only his, mine, and yours for the moment's being. Of course, in the case that you do come across any trusted confidants like he did with you, there is a way to add them. But with no more delay, Master Richard… zur en arrh."

A panel on the wall with the TV slid opened, revealing an elevator. The elevator took them down the Wayne Foundation building, to the secret sub-basement. As Dick Grayson departed the elevator, he entered his Batcave. Well, his Batbasement, to be more accurate. Not as large as Bruce's, but big enough. Storage for his gadgets and equipment, a testing range, a table to examine evidence, and a Batcomputer of a sleeker and more streamlined design that Bruce's. He gravitated past these to the sleek vehicle, and he put his hand on it. If there was one thing about his new job that definitely was great… it was finally being able to drive the Batmobile.

"I see you noticed that traffic eater, Master Richard. I remember how you always asked Master Bruce for your own car… but the best he ever got for you back when you wore the old red and green was that equally destructive bike. Nevertheless, there's something else Master Bruce got for you… because after all, you don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to realize something amiss when Dick Grayson is spotted driving that through town."

Alfred pointed to a fancy classic-type car. "Compliments of Master Bruce."

"You're kidding." Dick rubbed the back of his head. "Who does Bruce think I am? Dick Grayson, Agent of S…"

"Of what, Master Richard? The Secret Order of Obsessive Middle-aged Vigilantes and their Circus Bred Protégé?"

"I dunno, Alfred. The name escapes me. But you get the idea. Send Bruce my regards."

"I will."

"How is he doing?" Dick finally asked.

"I worry for him. The last time he'd ever been this distraught was the time after the Joker had shot Barbara and killed Jason…"

Dick paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. "But he never quit, did he?"

"Never did. Didn't even come close… but he still believed to the end that the city needed its protector. But things changed for Bruce after that. Jason Todd was the last child he ever put in the line of danger."

"The cloud's not going to be hanging over his head forever…" Dick said. He did feel kind of rotten, saying this when Bruce's son hadn't even been buried for half a year yet, but he couldn't stand to bear the thought of his mentor and father figure stuck in the dumps for the rest of his life. "…I know him, Alfred. I believe in Bruce Wayne."

"I hope so, too." Alfred said. "So what is your next course of action?"

Dick sat down in front of the Batcomputer. He powered it on.

"I'm going to pay a visit to the Oracle."

* * *

><p>Jim Corrigan got the call from dispatch while he was cruising downtown Gotham looking for a place to buy his lunch. It never was a thing to look forward to, being interrupted with the latest murder report while looking for a sandwich that wasn't priced to extortionate values, but it was a downside that came with the job that he had learned to live to. The police detective as such prepared for the empty stomach as he drove away from Gotham's picturesque downtown.<p>

When he arrived at the bar in the grimmer section of town later, he was almost grateful that his stomach was empty. The police were just setting up the yellow caution lines, and one officer with all the signs of a green sailor on him was losing his lunch in the nearby drainage. Of course, when one had been on the force as long as he had, you could almost say that you'd grown used to the twisted shit that the madness that some said brewed at the heart of Gotham threw at you. But Detective Corrigan couldn't say that he'd really gotten used to the evil he had seen on a daily basis… just desensitized to the horrors and lunacy that dredged their way into the lives of a cop in Gotham City.

As he stepped into the bar, he didn't even have to wait for the CSI team to finish their examination to know who was responsible for this massacre. His trademarks were all over this gruesome canvas. He shook his head, running through his hand through his hair. His eyes lingered on the twisted death-smile of one of the victims before the body bag was zipped shut.

"Someone give the Commissioner a call. Tell him the Joker's back in town."

* * *

><p>Back in the day, when they were young and the age of superheroes had just dawned, it had been just Batman and Robin at first. But one night came along Barbara Gordon, their ally Commissioner Gordon's very own daughter. She'd been inspired by the Batman's crusade against crime, and after some self-taught training, she'd made a suit of her own and dubbed herself Batgirl.<p>

Made it a trio. The years while that lasted were great. And once it had seemed that the two of them… Richard Grayson and Barbara Gordon… could've been something together. The two had even gone to prom together. But as the first ten years of the Batman's career trickled to a close, the good times ended. Dick had grown tired of the feeling of being in Bruce's shadow, the restricting sense of destiny that one day he was to inherit the man's mask. When he went off to college, he left behind Robin. He created a new identity for himself, Nightwing. He and Barbara had let themselves drift apart after he left Gotham to find himself. Through the Titans, he met someone new… and that relationship had ultimately gone where he and Barbara might've stood a chance at reaching once.

She kept fighting criminals alongside Batman after he left. Until one fatal day, when the Joker had come knocking on her door. The white lunatic hadn't even been aware that she was the Batgirl… she was just another in a long line of victims chosen by the Joker simply for having been there. But the confines of a wheelchair hadn't been the end… they'd merely been a catalyst for a new road.

"Hey, Barbara." He greeted her as the symbol of the Oracle filled the main screen of the Batcomputer.

"Call me Oracle when we're speaking, Batman. You never know who could be listening in."

"Alright then… Oracle."

"I see your biting wit is as sharp as ever, Batman. Why are you calling?"

"To get caught up on things."

"If you wanted to know how I was doing, an e-mail would've sufficed. I'm trying to multitask here, with two members of Batman Incorporated needing my watchful eyes on the other lines, and quite frankly…"

"I see what you're getting at, Oracle. But I need some info. I need to know what the underworld in Gotham is like."

"Same as ever. Bad and then it gets worse. You're the Batman. The World's Greatest Detective. Now if you excuse me, Black Bat is about to bust up a drug deal in a Hong Kong slum…"

He swallowed. Bruce was the World's Greatest Detective, not him. He had just been the kid that Bruce taught.

"Alright, I'll let you get on with your business. But just give me one thing. I know all about Arnold Wesker… but what about the person who's leading the other goons I busted? Who is Helena Bertinelli?"

"Shouldn't take any longer than a quick search in my database…" Oracle paused. "Ah, here's the quick rundown. Born into one of Gotham's old mob families. Her entire family was slaughtered before her own eyes at the age of eight. She was taken by a Witness Protection Program and disappeared for years… but she resurfaced when she was twenty-one and began rebuilding the old family business."

"Should I be worried?"

"You should, Batman. You know what seeing your family slaughtered before your eyes can do to a kid. And not every kid whose life is shattered has the right person come along to help pick it up the pieces like you did. She may not be Joker-levels of crazy, and she might not operate underneath a codename like much of scum in Gotham, but she's dangerous. Her mob wouldn't have reached the levels it has if she weren't."

"I'll be extra wary when I'm taking her gang apart, then."

"One more thing, Batman. What's it like? You know… being in the suit?"

"To be honest, Oracle… there are perks, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'm playing in a cover band."

"Just remember one thing, Batman. He picked you for a reason. And Batman? Feel free to call me any time when you're on patrol."

* * *

><p><em>A large villa on the city outskirts<em>

"This much is up front. It's only a mere fraction of what we'll pay you if you kill the Batman."

Helena Bertinelli remained silent, hidden in the shadows of the wide room, behind the large desk. Her trusted confidante Vinnie held up a suitcase filled neatly with stacks of dollar bills in front of a man in a green overcoat and black shades. He looked over the money, cigarette in mouth.

"That all looks temptin', but I think I'll pass on your big Batman hunt."

"Come again?"

"I said, I'll pass."

Helena Bertinelli, elbows on the table and her chin resting upon the top of her hands, twitched. It would be so easy to snap a finger and have someone blow his brains out, just for saying no to her.

"Do you have any idea how much we're paying you, Mr. Monaghan?"

"Yeah, I know how much you're payin'. I'm also countin' all the things that I coulda done with the money from this hit. But you see, you're gonna need to find someone else to plug the Batman for you."

"Mr. Monaghan, Ms. Bertinelli is offering you a chance to go places. Out of that sleazy dump we found you in. We know that you're a hit-man who specializes in what others won't touch. Batman is just the start. In her own words, we live in a world where this superhero fad has gotten far out of hand. There are more than just a few inches of space that need to be cleared out. She'll pay you any price you ask, providing you kill what she asks. Whether it be the Green Lantern or the Wonder Woman or even the Man of Steel him-"

"Woah now! You'd ask me to kill Superman? He's the only guy in a cape out there who ain't a joke!"

"Just what are you, if I may ask?" She spoke up at last. "A hit-man who doesn't kill?"

"Oh, I kill. I'd kill plenty of people for money. That's what I do for livin'."

"Then what's stopping you from heading out there right now with a rifle and blowing off the goddamn Batman's head from distance?"

"Well, I reckon he'd armor his head just for such occasions. All you'd get is one angry man in his black tighties after you instead of the brain splatter you'd hoped for. The first thing that's stoppin' me. The second thing is that I don't kill every schmuck someone puts in front of me. Aside from bein' another self-righteous moron in his knickerbockers, I don't see much wrong that the Batman has done to deserve someone puttin' a bullet through him. In fact…"

"What?" She asked impatiently.

He took off his shades and winked.

"In fact, the only real reason I answered your job 'application' was to check if I have x-ray vision or not."

"Those eyes…" She cringed, and then snapped. "Vinnie, show this freak the door."

* * *

><p><em>Evening<em>

Commissioner Gordon, taking his steps slowly, walked to the giant searchlight. With the flip of a switch, the searchlight hummed to life. In the starless darkness that loomed over the Gotham skyline, the symbol of the Batman pierced through with blinding light.

"You think he's coming?"

"Why wouldn't he, Detective Corrigan?"

"He didn't respond for four months. What makes you think he's going to respond out of the blue?"

"The same reason he resurfaced last night, that's why."

Detective Corrigan looked up at the symbol in the sky. "You know, Commissioner, I've been wondering. All the years I've spent on the force, and I can't help but wonder… do we really need a giant calling machine for a vigilante on our rooftop?"

"It's a question I've been asked many times, Detective, and I will always answer yes."

"We'll see about that, Commissioner. Still, in spite of everything the Batman has done for us, there's a lot that he's done wrong as well. Cases thrown out because he butted in… and perhaps he fuels whatever evil creates all the freaks in the city. The Jokers, the Poison Ivys, so on…"

"Perhaps things haven't gotten better. Perhaps they never will. But they have not gotten worse, even if mobsters have been replaced by lunatics. Gotham's evil has always been here… it just chooses to express itself in different ways to keep up with the times, Batman or no Batman. And Corrigan… aren't you in the Homicide division? You ought to be home with the wife, not fretting over the Joker case. Major Crimes handles cases like the Joker…"

"Pardon me, Commissioner. But sometimes, it's hard trying to be a normal man trying to do the right thing in a world of supermen and detective monkeys. Sometimes you just can't help but wonder that next to the Gods, you aren't even worth a speck of dust. Of course, knowing that the Gods are on our side is of small comfort… but how long is it before they're going to be doing our jobs entirely for us? And that's just assuming they leave it at doing our jobs." Detective Corrigan took his leave.

* * *

><p>"If there was only a way to get that goddamn eyesore out of the skies at night." Helena Bertinelli, sipping a glass of red wine, crossed her legs as she leaned back on her villa's terrace. "I knew I shouldn't have gone to the damn Cauldron for recruitment…"<p>

"Boss, we got some more names you might want to take a look at. Potential Batman killers. They might be a bit pricier than what you're…" She took the portfolio from the man.

"No price is too high for a dead Batman. I'm not going to let him take me apart like he took apart Arnold Wesker with one little sweep. I'm going to fight him with everything we got. With just a few dollars, I'm going to put him in the ground."

"Look at these names. You think you're okay with this? Enlisting people like-"

"Sometimes we have to fight fire with fire. As long as the freaks aren't in control, there are benefits to having them around."

"Want me to put the word out now?"

"That we want the Batman's head? No, let him have his fun for a little bit. You know the rumors and such. The Joker's back in town. Problematic for pretty much anybody, even us. Let him take care of that. Then we come for him, after he's worn down from the chase. But for now, I think I'm going to have a little vacation. Leave you in charge. Hire who you think is best fit to take care of our little guano problem. But by the time I get back from Italy, I want him D-E-A-D, Vinnie."

* * *

><p>"He's not coming, is he?" Lieutenant Bullock, about to call it quits for the night, had joined the Commissioner with several other officers in their department.<p>

"Not this night."

"You know, Jim, we aren't getting younger. Eventually we're going to have to step aside and make room for the wolves nipping at our heels." Bullock commented as he shook out his cigarette. "I just might take the road while it's still golden in a few years."

"The force will have lost a great man that day, Lieutenant."

Gordon walked to the signal, preparing to switch it off, when he heard the voice.

"Sorry for being late, Commissioner."

It was coarse, almost animalistic. He turned his head. Standing before them on the rooftop was the Batman. But something was different. He was dressed differently. His old outfit was replaced by a darker one that resembled body armor. No longer was there an oval emblem on his chest, rather the bat symbol that he wore was emblazoned onto his suit itself. And it wasn't simply aesthetics that were different. He'd known the Batman ever since the first encounter, after he had stepped off of the plane from Chicago. He moved differently. Spoke differently.

"Shrink a few inches, Batman?" Bullock asked.

"Your imagination, Lieutenant. What's the problem, Commissioner?"

"The Joker. He's loose in the city. And we all know how that white-faced clown can disappear into the city, off the face of the world, for weeks without another trace. Already, he's killed an entire bar full of people. Just think of how many more he could kill every second he's free."

"I would've liked to have focused my time with the growing gang problem in Gotham… but I know just how much chaos one man like the Joker can wreak. Let's bring this clown down, Commissioner."

But then he heard the shot. The shot of a silenced rifle. He pushed the Commissioner down. "Get down!"

But he hadn't yelled early enough. The dart, where it would've hit Gordon, continued to sail and struck the neck of one of the officers who hadn't reacted fast enough. He fell backwards onto his back, and as he convulsed his face began losing color. His eyes rolled backwards, cracks reddening. He started to laugh. It was chilling.

"Get him to a medic!" Batman yelled and the remaining officers restrained the thrashing man and dragged him off. "There's still a chance you can get the venom out of his system!"

"What about you, Batman?"

"He was aiming for you, Commissioner. Who knows who else he has on his list? I have no idea what his plan is... but I'm not going to sit around and wait for him to reveal it to us. I'm going after the creep." He pressed a hidden button on the side of his helmet, and lens slid over his eyes. The lens, which he had dubbed detective vision, scanned the area. Before long, he had a match on a possible building from which the Joker may have fired. There could be more evidence there. He reached for his grapple gun, and with the pull of a trigger, the Batman was off.

Into the urban jungle to hunt.


	4. Dance with the Devil

_Midnight_

"What's taking him so long? I've been waiting on this damn rooftop all night waiting for just the right moment… you'd think the 'ol guano man would be considerate enough to get here in a jiffy." The Joker frowned. He shook his fist and shouted at the sky. "Is it because I didn't hit the commissioner and just the little patrol boy, Batfreak? Don't pretend you can't hear me! Can't see me! I know you... you've got eyes and ears where no men can see! Not good enough for you to hurry, is it?"

The Joker's frown faded. Then he shook his head and peered through the scope of his rifle, scanning the roofs and streets.

"Oh well. All the more time to bring a few more smiles to this sad little burg…"

But before he could fire any shots, he heard the hums of whirling blades. GCPD helicopters, combing the skyline of the city. So much manpower, all for one nutcase with a rifle… The Joker would almost feel honored if he hadn't seen everything these forgettable mooks with their predictable routines had to throw at him already. So many years… so many things had changed, and yet a damn cop was nothing. There was no thrill in the chase, no pleasure derived from the game of cat and mouse with these idiots in uniform. But there was a special somebody… who'd always be there to play.

And that game would never get old.

"Joker." The voice growled as he heard the heavy thud behind him. "One chance. Put your hands on your he"

"No, Batman. I think I know where I can put 'em!"

The Joker, with a slight of hand, had a playing card in his hands. He quickly whirled around and thrust at Batman with his playing card. Batman, having anticipated the maneuver, managed to bend back in time as the razor-edged card sailed over his face. Batman stuck his leg out and swept the Joker off his feet, and delivered a hard punch directly into the clown's face, knocking out some of his yellow teeth. While the Joker was downed, Batman took the villain's rifle and bent the barrel.

"You… you're despicable! You know how much that rifle cost me?" The Joker angrily yelled as he staggered to his feet. He pulled out a crowbar and rushed at Batman.

"Not as much as the hospital bill." Batman said as he dodged the Joker. He tried to keep calm, focused. The maniac was unpredictable. No pattern, anything was possible – he noted right as he grabbed the Joker's wrist before the maniac could clap one of his shocking joy buzzers on his mouth. Dick Grayson was playing in the major leagues now. He hadn't clashed with the Joker since his days in the old red and green and back then, Bruce had always been there to back him up. To protect him… to make sure things never got out of hand. But now, it was Dick all grown up and in the big boy's clothing. And he was on his own. And as the Joker managed to get a good one in, the crowbar slamming down on his head, he realized that the possibility that he could very well end up like Jason was present. But it was a snowball's chance in hell if he'd let the Joker kill him. The helmet protected him from the full force of the impact, and head only reeling, he managed to use the Joker's leverage and lift him. The Joker, with a chorus of mad laughter, went flying. The Joker crawled to the edge of the roof, but Batman grabbed him by the collar and held him over the edge.

"Talk, Joker. What are you planning?"

"You know, Bats… I had a realization the other day…" The Joker nervously chuckled. "Neither of us… ack! G-getting younger. That old clock's ticking faster than we could ever imagine. And one day, there's going to be a die when the sun rises, and God forbid, dear Batman won't be around to play anymore!"

"I'm right here, Joker." Batman growled. "If living hell's your idea of a play-date."

"I was so… so overjoyed when I overheard on the TV that you weren't dead… there it was, the sign from heaven I needed to drag me out of my woes! I… I REALIZED I COULD STILL KILL YOU!"

"Yeah, well good job so far, Joker."

"It would've been grand. A grand finale to the two of us… the ending to our never-ending cycle. I had so many big things planned. I'd level a couple of skyscrapers, skin a few councilmen, give the audience of The David Endocrine Show some real laughs, you know the drill! Oh, it would've been so lovely… and I was so looking forward to the beginning of the end… the end of you and me…"

Then the Joker viciously headbutted Batman. The sudden shock made Batman release his grip on the Joker, and then with an angry roar, the Joker kicked Batman back.

"But you know, this ain't exactly the way I want it to end!" He swung at Batman again with the crowbar, catching him on the cheek.

The Joker stood over him. "You never gave me chances to give up before! Not after I put a bullet in the Commissioner's red-headed bitch of a daughter, not after I blew the Boy Blunder to bits and laughed while you broke every little funny bone in me in your rage… oh, that rage was so delicious! I had come so close to finally making you snap, making you realize just how thin that little line separating you from the rest of us freaks is! I could still taste it too, every single time you took me out afterwards! You wanted to do it so badly. Just end it for good! Just imagine all the lives you could've saved! Did you ever count everyone you ever murdered by allowing me to live? And I was looking forward, Batman, to finally cracking you until Hush did it! Oh, I would've murdered him for taking that pleasure from me… but oh, I suppose you saw to that, didn't you?"

As Batman tried to rise, the Joker kicked him across the jaw, knocking him down.

"But I suppose us comedians lift from each other all the time! It's a dog-eat-dog world, that good 'ol stand-up scene! Some people become carve legends with their wit…" The Joker frowned, and he looked down at the ground while kicking Batman. Dick, frantic, tried to find an opportunity to hit back but the damn Clown was relentless… "…but some, some just have bad days…"

"And you're about to have another one!" Batman roared as he grabbed the Joker's leg with one hand, and delivered a painful chop to the Joker's shin. The Joker staggered away long enough for Batman to recover. He and the Joker circled each other on the rooftop, weaving in and out as they continued to fight.

"Oh, I learned to suck up my losses. After all, we're far too old to be crying over spilled milk, aren't we, Batman?" The Joker told him as Batman managed to block his crowbar with his gauntlet. He fired the blades mounted in the sides of the gauntlet into the Joker's face, and kicked him back.

"Hoohooo…. heh… he..." The Joker looked up as Batman as he bent over, panting. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth curled open in a wide grin. Blood trickled down as he pulled the blades out of him. "I decided that killing you would be reward enough! And that would be it! The end of everything! No more Batman, no more Joker! We complete each other!"

Batman and the Joker faced each other.

"But then I noticed something as we were fighting. Something is just off… and then it struck me!" The Joker rushed at Batman again with his crowbar raised, and Batman managed in the nick of time to vault over the clown. "YOU AREN'T MY BAT!"

"Oh, you're very mistaken, Joker. I'm here, same as ever."

"Keep on talking the big talk, little boy!" The Joker said as he angrily swung at Batman. "The real Batman doesn't sound like he smokes a three-course meal of Marlboros everyday! Seriously, what the hell is up with your voice, you… you… YOU IMPOSTER!"

"All the better to scare you with." At least, that was what Dick hoped the tone of voice he was using could accomplish. Otherwise, he was straining his vocal chords for nothing.

"Scary?" The Joker laughed. "What's so scary about you? You're just some punk in a cape and body armor! Oh no… my Batman doesn't need any of your cheap little parlor tricks to scare me! He's the stuff of nightmares! The incarnation of fear itself, something ancient and hateful... with an appetite that can never be satiated. Oh, he was mad… so wonderfully mad…"

And then with reflexes like a burst of lightning, he managed to slide the tip of his knife into Batman's side. And as he pulled it out, he whispered into Batman's ear.

"But what are you, kid? My Batman's wings were real. Oh, he was so very much a real bat! He's a classic! An eternal sonata! A never-ending waltz in the pale moonlight! One little rumble on the rooftop with you, and I'm already crying for next year's model to come out! Move nothing like him! Fight nothing like him. You… are… not… him!"

"I might not be your Batman… but I'm going to hurt you just as much." Batman gritted, ignoring the pain of his stab wound, as he drove his fist upwards and shattered some of the Joker's rib.

The Joker only laughed maniacally, as if the broken bones had no effect.

"This is rich! You don't get it, do you? Put on all the body armor you like! Buy all the fancy new toys you want! Hit me till you can't hit no more! But you will never be able to hurt me… only Batman can! And no matter how much you try, you'll never be Batman! But you seem familiar in a way… like an acquaintance from way back… been a while but I remember the way that body flowed and worked. Isn't that right, once-a-Robin?"

The Joker leapt over the edge of the building, onto the fire escape. Pushing his way through the pain, Batman leapt after him.

"Pursue me to the ends of the Earth if you want, Batman! Chase me 'till time itself ends! But it won't change a damn thing. There… can… only… be… one!" The Joker yelled as he fired his gun several times at Batman. He barely managed to swerve himself away, and four fresh holes were made in his cape. "But that won't change that you're just a little boy in Daddy's clothing, trying to pretend that you're all grown up! But those clothes will never fit…"

"I won't let you… get away…" Batman grabbed for Joker but the clown predicted him and threw him over the railing. The cape slowed his fall, but he slammed hard into the wall of the adjacent building as he fell, and hit the ground of the alleyway even harder. The Joker slid down on a drainpipe, and he bent over Batman. He plunged the knife into him again, and then he stood over the downed Batman as he pulled out a magnifying glass to examine him with. The Joker shook his head.

"All of us, we've had that moment. The moment when we realized that we were living in the asylum the whole time. All it takes is one bad day, like I said to the real deal once. Loss of everything you ever cared about, a fresh serving of acid to the face at court, it doesn't matter it is. I remember something different every day… the thing that made me what I am… but like I said, what it was doesn't matter. We all go to the same place in the end. The real world. The asylum. What's the difference? Peel away all the layers, and what you get is madness. Pure chaos, sparkling anarchy on the rocks."

The Joker continued to peer over Batman.

"Batman, the real one… his madness was special. We were always mad you see. It doesn't matter what the critics on TV and the blogs say. Everything still would have happened with or without a Bat in Gotham. He just nurtured our madness… shaped it in a way no one could've foreseen!"

The Joker flipped Batman over, on his side. With a disappointed sigh, he gazed directly into Batman. His mad eyes burrowed directly into Batman's.

"We were the infants at his nipple. And his day must've been very bad… oh so deliciously tragic. Why else would he have fought on the side of the angels? Or, to be more accurate… boy scouts in their panties… Tried so hard to pretend that there was even a semblance of sanity… of order… of good in this world. And thus, we were destined to do this gig forever. But you… what are you, you little wannabe? Why are you dressed up like a giant rat? What sort of bad day did you have?"

Batman glared at the Joker as he mockingly smiled at him.

_I was a circus boy. Completed the Flying Grayson's. Acrobatic act. Traveled the country with Haly's. We entertained crowds of thousands at each stop. And I loved it. I never felt the danger, no fear that I'd fall and snap my neck. Every second I was in the air, it was like flying. _

_But when Haly's rolled into Gotham, and Tony Zucco decided he wanted to dip his fingers into the pie…_

_All it took was a bit of tinkering with the trapeze before my parent's act. And this was the first time they didn't fly. They fell. And in the flash of a few seconds, I was alone. I had lost everything that mattered to me… but I wasn't alone. He had been there to catch me as I fell. To stop a replay of things. And he taught me how to channel my grief, my rage and confusion, into something greater… but now, here I am. At the Joker's mercy._

_Sure, I could tell you just how exactly my bad day went down, Joker. Right down to the details of lunch, the last word my mother said to me before she went to her last performance. But I'm not giving you the satisfaction. Instead…_

Batman spat into the Joker's face. The Joker frowned and smacked him with the butt of his revolver.

"Now, that was just rude. Why the hell does Batman never teach you boy blunders any sort of manners? I should just introduce you to the business end of the good 'ol magnum right here, but a joke is never funny the second time around, no matter how differently you try to tell it."

_Jason Todd. My replacement, the second Robin. And the last… what almost sent Bruce over the edge… Never really knew him, only spoke to him a few times, and those conversations couldn't even _

"You know why you'll never match him? Look at you, you don't ever cover up the eye-holes on that mask like he does. You let the whole world see those sparkling blues… is it to remind yourself when you look in the mirror before removing your mask that you're still human? Bah! He knew that this…" He tapped Batman on the head. "…was the real face. What's underneath is the mask, something crucial that you missed. He was as insane as the rest of us, something so delightfully poisonous in his bloodstream. He was primal, a force of nature! My one and only darling Batman! But you… you're just here because Daddy told you to! You're not mad… you're just pathetic! God, why am I even giving you this moment?"

"You're wrong. This is the mask. It's always been the mask." Batman managed to laugh as the Joker ranted. "Are you jealous that we have something to live for beyond all of us this? But you, Joker? What you have right here is all you'll ever have."

"Don't be so damn daft, you faker!" The Joker screamed. "Oh, Hush told me some secrets… but Batman… he can pretend, you can deny it all you want, but in the end, no matter how much offspring he can see, no matter how much champagne he can down at fancy ball parties or whatever the hell it is the one percent does, the Bat is all he is. Now, if you excuse me… I've got people to kill. Enough to get my darling back where he belongs. I suppose you'd be a fine start, but you just disgust me. The way you think you can call yourself a Batman… the way you raised my hopes and broke them!"

The Joker angrily eyed Batman.

"I should kill you, but I suppose that given that you're an even bigger fraud… a nastier crook than 'ol Nixon, I think even Crazy Quilt could take you out with no effort. But I'll live you with a parting gift…" The Joker reached into the inner pocket of his large overcoat and pulled out a grotesque doll. "…that was designed by an old business associate of mine. He asked me for money… but I gave him something even better. Eternal happiness! Heehee! Lovely dolls, these are. Come in multiple sizes. Perfect fun for the kiddies, heh. They laugh, they sing, and my favorite… they explode!"

"Wouldn't that be killing me, Joker?" Batman managed to sarcastically throw at the clown.

"Well… er, let's just say it's the explosion that kills you, not me." The Joker said apologetically as he laid down the doll and pulled a string in its neck. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm in the mood for some burgers. Wendy's is to die, y'know."

The Joker stormed off, mumbling furiously to himself. Batman managed to stagger to his feet, using the wall for support. Christ, his body hurt like hell. He tried to keep calm. Remember what Bruce had taught him. He looked down at the doll. So, how exactly did it explode? Trying to find a balancing point, he muttered at the doll:

"The Joker forgot to mention how ugly you are…"

Then the doll spoke, a child's robotized voice. "Not as ugly as yer gonna be in a few seconds, Dead-man!"

"Me and my fat mouth…" Batman managed to shake his spinning head as he whipped out his grapple gun and he fired it. Where the grapple gun hit and sent him, it didn't matter. All that he could hear was the sound of the explosion behind him as he sailed off, as the doll enveloped the alleyway in flames. As he struggled onto the rooftop of wherever he had landed, he realized he hadn't escaped fast enough and his cape was on fire. Quickly, he'd detached it. Smothered the flames out. And he had collapsed onto his back, breathing hard.

Dick Grayson considered removing his mask, to fully enjoy the sweet air, but who knew who could be watching? That didn't matter. Joker… Joker had gotten away. Bruce… would've never let something like this happen if he had been in the suit. Pain was only temporary. Broken bones would mend. But the people killed by the maniac each second he was loose… those would be forever.

Groaning, he reached into his utility belt and reached for medical supplies. Not enough to account for everything he'd suffered… but enough to patch him up for moment. He crawled to the edge of the building and looked at the alleyway. The explosion hadn't been large enough to topple the buildings, but there'd been enough damage. And people, although he couldn't see it from here, he could definitely hear the people.

He could crawl back to the penthouse. Ring for Alfred. Get these wounds patched up. And resume the hunt for the Joker. But the people down there needed help. Rescue teams were still far away. He still felt like he had just been used by Blockbuster as a punching bag, but was that going to stop him? People were in need. No matter what mask he was wearing, Dick knew that he was a hero. Always had been. He'd just have to face the consequences of his choice later.

And he swung back to the place where he fell.

_You may have won this round, but don't enjoy your fun too long, Joker. I'll be back for you. No matter what you're planning now… I will stop you. _


	5. The Worst Night of Silky Cernak's Life

**AN: a few edits have been made to some of the previous chapters, for grammar and timeline's sake.**

* * *

><p><em>Inside Stately Wayne Manor<em>

"Don't push yourself too hard, kitten." Selina advised her daughter as the latter exercised while she leaned back on the wall and observed. They were in the manor's large exercise room, outfitted with all the trappings of a gym that the Wayne fortune could buy. Treadmills, weights and dumbbells, a gymnastics course, punching bags and a boxing ring, and so on. Anything a potential vigilante-in-training could need to push their body to apex condition was here.

"Pushing myself, Mom? I'm pulling myself too hard, for crying out loud." Helena Wayne heaved as her hands fervently gripped the chin-up bar. She pulled herself up in quick, feverish intervals. Beads of sweat slowly slid down the side of her head as she did. Heart beating rapidly, sweet oxygen becoming a rarity choked through the teeth… she finished by leaving the bar with an acrobatic flip over the bars her "Uncle" Richard had taught her the last time she had seen him.

Selina applauded her daughter as she landed gracefully near her. She thought about Bruce, in the city, working more and more nights at the Wayne Foundation Tower when he could've easily stayed at home and had someone do it for him. Her voice was tinged with noticeable concern when she spoke. "Still, your father would be absolutely devastated if you happened to…" A pause. "You understand what I mean. You've been going in here every day, spending hours on everything. You've been going at it like you have death on your heels. One accident and…"

"Then I guess I'll just have to be ex-tra careful then, won't I?" Helena replied almost sarcastically as she tied her hair back into a ponytail. Then she realized that her choice of words could've been a bit more eloquently worded. She paused, as if she was hesitant to tell her mother what she wished to say next. "But Mom…"

"What is it, kitten?"

"I miss him so much. Just as much as you two do. But I can't…" Her voice wavered. "…but I can't cry for him forever. Not when there are people just like him every day being hurt or killed in this city and no one's doing a thing about it. I want to be able to help people… like you and Dad used to."

Selina looked over her daughter, as if she was measuring her with a stick of tape. "Used to? Your Dad's still helping the city and the world as best as he can."

"Yeah, I know… but not the way he used to."

"Hmm…" Selina put her hands on her daughter's shoulder. "Helena, I can see where you're coming from and I know you loved your brother. You must miss him more than any of us but what we used to do, it's not a game. Your father and I, we all lost people we loved. The streets are no place for a kid."

"Like my 'Aunt' Holly and 'Uncle' Richard? They seem to be doing all right last time I saw 'em." Helena crossed her arms, looking directly into her mother's eyes. "Uncle Richard was barely older than I am right now when he started going out with Dad to clean up the scum."

Selina sighed. She had a point. Both she and her husband had prior experience with the employment of the underage in their vigilante and underworld endeavors in the past… but things had been different then. She could say that to her daughter, but had they really been?

"It wasn't right of us, looking back at things, to have used them the way we did. But they were trained. They knew what they were getting themselves into." Selina attempted to explain to her daughter. "Can you say the same about yourself, having grown up the princess in her palace you are with your family butler and the fancy prep school and your parent's wallets and the like?"

"Right… but someone had to teach them, didn't they? Teach me, Mom. Train me. Get me ready for what's out there just waiting to get kicked in the teeth." Her daughter doggedly insisted. She waved her hand at all the equipment around them. Then she thought about the Batcave. Locked up by her father, but if anyone knew how to bust any locks, it was certainly her own mother. The infamous Catwoman. "Everything we need is here… and what isn't, we're sitting on it."

"Why do you want this, Helena?" After having lost one child already, the woman was reluctant, even to ponder the possibility of losing another. A wound that was still freshly cut, perhaps never to be stitched up and mended.

"I'm not doing it for myself because I think it'll be fun or whatever you think I'm doing it for. I want to become a hero like Dad to honor what he did and what he stood for. Bruce Jr. used to dream of it, did you know that?" She asked her mother, her voice growing heavier. Selina nodded. Helena continued as it became apparent that her mother had no vocal response to contribute. "He wanted to become Robin so he could be out there alongside Dad. Fighting the bad people… like all the heroes do. I never really thought about it much, even after I found who you and Dad really were… but after my brother was killed by the bad guys, I realized this was what I wanted to do. I have to do it. For both of them."

Selina bowed her head, her face overcast with shadow. Her eyes, having not been dulled with the passage of time, looked down at her daughter as she felt her offspring's cheeks. They were mysterious, contemplating. Answers known only to her. Her child could not analyze them, see what her mother truly was thinking.

"Alright, Helena, I see. I'll teach you everything I know about prowling." She pat her daughter on the head, stroking through her strands of hair like soft fur on a cat.

"Thanks, Mom. You're the best!" Helena said joyously as she clamped her arms around her mother.

"Not without making a few promises first!" Her mother insisted. "You better learn the drill, kitten. Do all your homework, eat whatever I put in front of you at the dinner table – even broccoli – and keep up good grades. Otherwise, no training. Be extra good, and I might even call your Uncle Richard in to teach you a few of his tricks."

Helena gulped. "Uh… alright, Mom. So, um… when do I get a… you know, costume? And get to go out and stuff?"

"When you're ready." Selina winked at her daughter as she led her child by the shoulder.

"When's that?"

"Sweetheart, we haven't even begun classes yet and already you think you can graduate?"

"What is Dad going to say about this?" Helena suddenly asked, her tone of voice worried. Her eyes darted around, as if Bruce Wayne could be hiding in the shadows waiting to step out with a stern voice of veto. "I don't think he'd…"

When Selina replied, her voice was reminiscent of the flirtatious voice she had spoken to Bruce Wayne in when they chased each other across the rooftops and alleyways of Gotham. Back when things had still been a game for all involved, when the thrill of every weekly chase would never seem to end. When settling down from the wild adventurous routine of thievery and street justice that she lived for seemed but a mere dream. A hint of seduction, a voice that was as sweet as honey. And to be honest, there were days that Selina herself missed the kicks of old that had ended when she hung up the old Catwoman suit and gear. It was what seemed to contrast her with her husband who nowadays seemed to keep all eyes on the road ahead. "Helena-dearie, let's make this our little secret, shall we?"

Helena smiled, her face full of eagerness to leap into the rapidly expanding pool of possibilities that was her future. "You got it, Mom."

"Now, Helena, let's see how well you can take a punch." Selina climbed into the exercise room's boxing ring, removing her shoes and loose bits of jewelry, and helped her daughter in.

"Are you kidding me, Mom? I just got my black belt. Of course I can take a punch."

"What they teach you in a school is only half of the story, Helena. When you grow up on the streets with nothing and claw your way up to the top of the slide… that's the other half. Now show me what you've got." She beckoned for her daughter to begin, a twinkle in her eyes. Selina hadn't had the opportunity to stretch her legs like this for a while… it was almost like the old days.

* * *

><p><em>Wayne Manor Estate, the very edge<br>_

Crouched in the shadows, underneath the trees overarching above him on the small alcove, there hid the sniper. His name was Silky Cernak, a crook with delusions of grandeur who hadn't really amounted to much in either aspect of his life. He observed the scene unfolding in the window he peeked on through the lens of his high-powered binoculars. Stolen and loaned to him from his latest boss, of course. On a criminal loser's non-existent salary, affording such fancy toys on his own had been a wet dream.

Selina Kyle had been one of his former bosses. Back when she'd been a full-time criminal, pulling off the most daring heists in Gotham for the sheer fun of it. He'd fallen in with her gang after he'd been kicked out of the Iceberg Lounge for unpaid gambling debts with the threat of being fed to the fishes if he ever showed his head in there again. He'd spent a good deal of time ogling her figure back in those days. Perhaps a bit too much, because on his first and final job for her he had forgotten the plan almost instantly and he had summarily proceeded to trip on a rock when escaping – losing his share of the loot instantly and in exchange being rewarded with time in the slammer.

So many years later, after he finally was released back onto the streets, he went up looking for the old broad for work again only to find out that by some stroke of bizarre and cruel fate the damn Catwoman had reformed and married Bruce Wayne out of all people. How ironic considering that it was his money they had been lifting on the day he got busted! And how cruel a world was this, where the boys that did all the real hard lifting got nothing but time in the slammer and nothing but a bottle and roach-infested room, while their bosses got to get their records cleared and shack up with the world's richest men? Old Silky, who after experience locked-up was literally silk-haired, felt that he was rightfully entitled to a cut of Selina's diamond-encrusted pie.

So he came up with "evidence" – doctored photographs of the Catwoman engaging in a myriad of criminal acts. Enough hard evidence, in his mind, to get his former employer locked up where he had been for a good deal of time if she didn't play ball his way. Silky surprised her after she dropped her blue-eyed brats off at the brat academy of spoiled over-pampered punks with his reunion present. Threatened that if she didn't give him the money he felt she owed him, he'd get her in a nasty place real fast. Destroy her marriage, her family, everything that mattered to her. It was clear that he had left her real shaken, real pissed, after he told her to think about it. That night, he slept like a king. Went to bed feeling like an even smarter cookie than Lex Luthor. When he woke up… he didn't like thinking about it, but a hellhound in black sent him hurtling back to the bottom of the ladder. The... goddamn... Batman... in the flesh.

Today was the time for his final payback. The hour of ultimate vengeance was at hand. The sniper rifle, his boss had equipped him with, and with about half a year's worth of saved money, he'd brought the bullets. He'd made the mistake of trying to cut a deal with the broad last time. But all those rich bastards like Selina Kyle had connections they weren't afraid to use when the masses tried to take back what was rightfully theirs. This time, there would be no time for the former Catwoman to run and call for the attack dog. Point… and bang bang.

He almost wished he'd brought his camera as he watched the scene unfold before him. The woman and her brat, they were doing something. Play-fighting, he guessed. The Wayne brat couldn't do jack, as he put his eye through the rifle's scope and watched Selina outmaneuver her daughter with ease. With the right picture put in the wrong context… the innocent game between a parent and child turned into something else with his words… an entire circus of scandal could snowball. Ah, what the tabloids would pay for a picture of _the_ Bruce Wayne's wife giving the brat that hadn't croaked a good deck across the head.

But without a camera, Silky guessed he'd just have to settle for killing her. But although his boss had sent him to send a message to Bruce Wayne for reasons Silky didn't know – the smell of a fresh greenback was enough for Silky to send in his employee application – he hadn't expected the kid to be in the same vicinity as her ma. And he remembered that he had been able to buy two bullets with his life savings. Ah, what a dilemma. He could kill both of them… but that bitch Selina Kyle had taken away too many good years of his life. Silky thought… no he _**KNEW **_that he would've been the untouchable Kingpin of Gotham had it not been for her! Obviously, it was the cat-fetish freak's fault for his misfortunes, not his nonexistent incompetence!

He'd make her suffer. Watch her eyes swell up like exploding melons as he pulled the trigger and 'lil Helena's, the Wayne Empire's precious 'lil princess, turned to red mist right in front of her. Then as grief overcame her, and as she cradled the child's corpse in her arms, he'd cripple the bitch. It was tempting for Silky to kill her, get some immediate gratification, but only true satisfaction could be attained if she suffered through a living nightmare that she'd never wake from.

Truly, Silky Cernak thought as he smiled, he was the smartest bastard in the world. And after tonight, all of Gotham… no, the entire cosmos would know it!

He never heard the sound, the whoosh of wind, as someone threw the thin rope that quickly wrapped around his neck. Silky Cernak only had the time to choke up some spittle as he was pulled from his vantage point into the gaping maw of darkness. Something with an anaconda's grip held him high, by the neck. He dared not look at it directly, for he feared he'd turn to stone and never move again.

He screamed like he was an infant again as the black fist of the shadow man sent him to the realm of nightmares.

* * *

><p>"Did you hear something outside?" Selina asked her daughter, almost casually, as she nimbly evaded the latter's punches and kicks. She hadn't felt like this in a long time. The former Catwoman was surprised how fluid she could still perform her movements, how much she remembered, even with the dulling of age. Her daughter tried to grab her for a throw, but she easily wiggled out of the grasp.<p>

"Less talk, Mom. More fight." It was only a practice fight, not a gold-medal competition or anything, but Helena could feel the growing tinges of seething red frustration as she sparred with her mother. Her mother had been the Catwoman, but she hadn't expected her mother to actually be this good. Even after she found out about her parents' secrets, she had never really seen her mother as the type who'd outfox the police and tear apart thugs with just her bare hands and a whip on a regular basis. But now, she was getting a front-row seat. She dare not imagine how long she would've lasted had Mother still been in her prime. And it was admittedly weird… to be fighting her own mom.

"You sure?" Selina asked as the two stood apart with her daughter looking up at her, weary but still fiery, a brief impasse.

Maybe she wasn't as good as Helena thought she had been, in spite of the black belt and accolades hanging in her room. At the start of a long road before she was finally ready for a costume and codename of her own. But still, she wanted to get at least one good one on her Mother in before she called it quits for tonight.

Helena nodded. Then she made her move. She was still a growing girl, yet to hit the peak, and her mother still possessed the advantage in vertical size. And experience, as the past few minutes had shown. But Helena had the energy of youth, the blind drive of optimism and determination. First a sweeping kick to trip Selina and force her onto a knee, onto an even eye-to-eye level. That phase of her plan worked. She smiled in the split-second she could afford. Then Helena followed with a punch to the head, aimed between the eyes. She planned to pull it at the last second, and bring their duel to a close. But evidently, her mother had a different finale in mind. Selina saw the punch coming, and jerked her head so her daughter's fist sailed past. Helena tried to hold onto her, keep her down, but Selina shrugged her off. Helena tried to kick her mother, but her mother grabbed ahold of her leg before it could connect. Next thing Helena knew, she was laid out flat on her back. Her mother was standing above her with an apologetic expression, wiping her hands.

"Not bad for a first shot. Consolation hug?" Selina offered as she helped her daughter up.

"Sure, Mom." Helena accepted and as she did, she looked up with admiration. "You're good."

"And I'm going to teach you to be even better. Better than even me and your dad." Selina said as she looked over her daughter who at on the ropes, checking that she didn't go too hard. "But it won't be easy, kitten."

"Trying to scare some common sense into me, Mom?" Helena asked as she untied her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders. "Sorry, but I'm set on it. I know it's not safe. You're right that I have no real idea what I'm getting myself into. But… but… it's what… I want. I know it."

"Nothing of the sort, Helena. We're both stubborn girls, and trying to dissuade you anymore is a pushing contest I won't prolong. Just take my advice to heart, okay?"

Helena nodded as she rubbed her leg. It was a bit sore but not as bad as it could've been, knowing the stories she'd heard of people who'd messed with her mother in the past. Motherly precision, she supposed.

Hmm… what should I tell your Dad if he asks what we do on our girls' only nights?" Selina wondered to herself as she looked out of the window. "But honestly… did you hear anything weird earlier? I swore there was something crashing."

Helena shrugged.

* * *

><p>As Silky came to, he realized three things. One, his head felt like somebody had been setting off firecrackers in it. Second, he was upside down. The disorienting, blood-rushing-to-your-head sort of feeling confirmed that. Third, he couldn't see. The B… B… Batman's fingers were wrapped around his eyes like a cloak. When he spoke, it was like the worn yet eloquent and menacing drawl of the goddamn devil himself croaking into his ear.<p>

"Wh-wh-what the hell do you want?" Silky cried.

"Answers. The people I questioned in the streets didn't have the highest of praises to sing about you, Silky. I know that you never would've gotten the nerve to sneak into the Wayne Estate by yourself unless someone big and too scary to say no to told you to."

"You think you can scare me again, you freak?"

"I seem to be doing a pretty good job at it, so far. Care to take a guess on the ten-scale?" _Oh shit._ Silky thought. _Is he joking? The Batman doesn't joke! I know I'm frigged. If he smiles at me, my heart's gonna stop for sure." _

"Why are you helping those rich pigs, Batfreak?" Silky tried to sound unintimidated. "How come you haven't done more for people like us who've spent their whole lives in the dirt as they laughed at us?"

"I'm all for community service to the downtrodden. Want to improve your life? Go ahead. I won't stop you. But when your way of doing so involves aiming a rifle at a mother and her child, I will come for you." The Batman whispered slowly into Silky's ears. He shuddered as each syllable reverberated, a moaning organ in an empty church.

"H-how did you find me?"

"I have friends in high places. There's a lady friend who's even better with numbers and tech than I am. It was easy work for her, tracing you from the store you purchased your bullets at."

Was that the sound of wind howling in his ears, or was he dead and this to be his eternal torment? He was freezing his ass off. The Batman was growling again.

"I already know who hired you to pull that trigger. And you're going to tell me everything that you know about him."

"Sure… sure, Batman." Silky tried to smile. He'd might be able to pull a royal flush out of this toilet before it flushed after all. "But we do things my way. I walk with all my stuff and anything I can ask for. A round-trip flight ticket to Bludhaven. No cops, no telling the Waynes, no nothin' that would get me in trouble."

He could've sworn he heard the Batman chuckle at this. Simply thinking about it, the sheer notion send earthquakes of terror throughout his being.

"Silky Cernak, this is isn't Burger King. You are in absolutely no position to have things your way." Then the Batman released his hand. And Silky saw just how high up he truly was. Gotham spread out below him, like a model set. Glittering car lights were mere ants on a trail. And the wind howled ever so loudly in his ears.

"BLAGG!" Silky released downwards a stream of vomit. Tough luck for anyone who happened to be down there right now.

"Blagg? That's a new one." Batman commented as Silky screamed continuously. "Now, care to divulge everything you know?"

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod I'll tell you JUST DON'T DROP ME!" Silky choked in between screams. Christ, the wind was getting stronger. "I don't know everything he's got planned. I'm just a guy with a gun looking for an easy payday! But he's going to start killing people… starting in two weeks at the Milton Finger Memorial Building!"

There was going to be a fundraising ball at the Milton Finger Memorial Building in exactly two weeks. This was a good lead. Good enough to relay to Commissioner Gordon. But bad news. There were bound to be hundreds of socialites from Gotham's one-percent at the fundraiser. Perfect amount, perfect type, of prey for lunatics like the Joker. And dammit… Bruce had informed Dick earlier that he would be taking the whole family to the fundraiser.

"Can you let me go now?" Silky asked, hopeful. "I won't… er… bother Selina Kyle anymore now. But I ain't gonna guarantee anythin' else 'bout shits like her brat 'till I get what's owed to m-AAAGH!"

The Batman hoisted Silky up, his feet kicking over the edge of the skyscraper they stood on, leering directly into his eyes. Silky let himself go from both ends.

"Nobody owes you anything, vermin. So Silky, clear your head, not like there's much to move around in it and listen to me: I'll be watching you. Every single step for the rest of your life. Even when I'm not around, even when the sun is shining too bright for me, you _WILL REMEMBER _that the Batman is watching. Every shadow, every blind spot, I'll be there. And one step out of line… if you do something as little like taking a strand of hair…I will show you what fear truly is."

Then came darkness. Silky, messy and petrified, mercifully accepted it as it enveloped all his consciousness.

* * *

><p>"Sleeping like an angel, isn't she?" Bruce asked as Selina pulled the covers over their daughter. He stood over her, stroking her cheek softly with the back of his hand. His daughter did not stir, deep in sleep. A black cat sat at the foot of the bed, observing the couple as its tail waved in the air like question marks.<p>

"You could say that." Selina said.

"So what were you two doing all night while I was at work?" Bruce asked as he removed his tie.

"Eh, just helping her with her homework. These private schools are vicious on that front, Bruce."

"Really? Just homework?" Bruce asked.

"Would I really lie to you, Bruce, hmm?" Selina asked him as she walked up to him, putting both her hands on his cheek. She stood upwards on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. It was odd, having seen that cheek go unbruised and cut from nightly patrols since he burned his costume. "Now, what reason would I have to lie to you?"

"Hmph… no reasons anymore. But I guess even in retirement, instincts die hard." Bruce said as he put his arm around his wife and they walked out of their child's room, towards their own. They passed their late son's room as they did, and Bruce glanced inside. Nothing had been moved, despite all the time that had passed since Bruce Jr's passing. Everything, the books and toys and the rumpled state of his blankets, was where it had been when he had gone. His heart tightened, and his chest felt heavy. "Is she coping alright, Selina?"

"Better than I could have hoped for. But what about you, Bruce?"

He thought about everything. "I have my own ways of dealing with things."

* * *

><p>When Silky Cernak came to, he was locked in the holding cell of one of Gotam's police precinct buildings. He demanded for a phone call first, even though he had no one to call to. Next a lawyer, even though there was no way he could ever afford to hire one. Then finally, a bottle of booze. Nothing came. The officers apathetically passed by, offering occasional glances that revealed nothing as they looked over him. He heard a comment that there was no way anyone was going to pay his bail.<p>

He had curled up, cried. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair. All he had wanted were a few dollars. So what if two rich dipshits had to die for it? The sooner Gotham's one-percent became zero-percent, the better things would be for the forgotten people. But now, he was going to spend the rest of his life hounded by that freak. Always looking over his shoulder, making sure nothing was going to jump out of the shadows at him, that was Silky's future. It wasn't fair.

Lost in loathing, he almost didn't hear the jingle of the keys and the cell door sliding open. Silky, his eyes red and his breath a rotten waft, looked up. Standing before him was a tall well-dressed man with combed dark brown hair in glasses in a fancy suit. Attractive, movie-star esque looks. Burrowing, curious eyes. He was holding a briefcase in one hand. Yet there was something off-putting about him. But Silky couldn't place his finger on what it was.

"Who… who are you? Are… you… my lawyer?"

"You got no lawyer… but I think you'll want to hear what I have to say regardless." The man told him. "I'm new in town. But you'll see that I'm rather important. Head psychiatrist at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane."

"A-a-arkham? I want out of this stinkin' cell but I'm not crazy! I won't go there, not for all the oil in Arabia!"

"I'm willing to pay your bail. Get you out of here… in exchange for your voluntary role in a few tests I wish to conduct at Arkham."

"You think I'm going to let you pump me full of crazy juice for nothin'?" Silky asked him. If he didn't know that Batman was watching, he'd launch himself at this man with his fancy suits and his tests and rip them to shreds.

"Listen, Silky Cernak. You think that anyone's going to bail you out while you're in here? Of course not. And the courts aren't going to be doing any favors for you. But I will. Say… what got you in here to begin with?"

"Don't you know?" Silky quivered, fearful. "It was him… THE BAT! He said... he said" His voice stammered, his lips quivered. "He was going to show me what fear really was!

The man smiled. Almost as if he could tell how scared Silky was. Almost as if he was feeding off of his fear, relishing it like a cup of wine. "Somehow, I doubt that. But that seems to be a reoccurring diagnosis in this town. I've heard of the Batman before. What is it about a mere man and the sight of his symbol shining in the skies at night that gives all of you criminals the shivers? It tickles my curiosity. So much that I need to learn and analyze. Listen, Silky. Think of me as your best friend right now. With my tests… you won't need to be scared of a little man in a bat-suit anymore."

"Really?" Silky said, his ears perking up. What he'd give to never be scared of the Batman again, the list was high.

"Of course. And you're not being shortchanged… this is just for the first test." The man said as he reached into his coat pocket and laid out before Silky a fat ward of Franklins neatly stacked and tightly bound. The very sight of the color green sealed the deal.

"You got it!" Silky jumped up, his energy renewed. He held out his hand. "Um, Doctor, when do we start?"

"No need for the formalities, Silky. Call me Jonathan Crane." The Doctor told him as they shook hands.

"Yes, Silky, you are going to learn much about fear in our time together soon…"

"Bud, just keep handing me those greens and I'll learn whatever the hell you ask me to." Silky said as he followed Dr. Crane out, to freedom and life never to be scared again.

Or so he thought.


	6. Ballroom Blitz

Gotham at midnight. Most would have tuned in, slipped below covers as the graveyard shift began, one that was worked by a very special sort of worker in this city. Most reputable establishments would've closed their doors by now, but one drinking hole in the East End's lights were still shining bright, marked by frequent sputters. A place characterized by the smell of cigarettes and spilled beer, where a few bad men looking for work such as the dearly disappeared Silky Cernak could send out their applications to the first person to hire.

"'lo, Matches." The bartender, swollen belly, said without looking up as he half-heartedly wiped a sticky rag across a glass. "What'll it be?"

"A shot of whiskey." Matches Malone wore large shades and a green suit. Graying brown hair, thin mustache. As he said this, he lit a cigarette while he waited for the bartender to do suit. He tapped the cigarette letting the ash fall, observing the scene, almost as if he was making a map of the environment.

"Ain't seen ya 'round here in a while, Matches." The bartender commented. The other patrons of the bar were turning their attention to Matches. "What do ya really want? A few bad men, maybe?"

As Matches downed his shot, two bulky and surly men walked up to him. One of them cracked his hands as he looked down at the seated Matches. Matches' expression was cool, seemingly unfazed by the two elephants towering over him. He finished his whiskey, and set his glass down. Matches then spoke.

"Something the matter, gents? I don't appreciate havin' my drinks interrupted."

"Yeah, ah do. Ah've been frequentin' dis 'ere joint for years now and ah know how the real Matches act. He don' smoke his cigs before he finishes his whiskey… and ah know that Matches is a real tall fella. Ya ain't even a six-footer." More drinkers, hearing the news, were getting up from their seats. Their eyes were less than friendly. "Ya a friggin' faker, and Ah'm gonna find out who yoose is underneath dose shades and stick-on 'stache."

Grayson had hoped he could make it in and out of the bar without making a scene with the information he needed. But it seemed that some of the chumps inside were bright enough to be suspicious when Bruce's six-foot-two was replaced with his five-ten. He should've asked Bruce for more about his Matches routine before he got Alfred to dust off the disguise kit. More damn beginner mistakes… if these thugs weren't so laughable, he'd be kicking himself. The man who'd called his disguise out threw a punch at him, which Grayson dodged quickly before grabbing the man's arm and flipping him over the counter, smashing him into the bottles. The bartender screamed as all this happened. Grayson then flipped over the shoulders of another attacker, bringing his foe's teeth into the counter as he did, and went into the cluster of irate men.

As the dust cleared, and the last piece of glass shattered, Grayson readjusted Matches' shades. About twelve men were sleeping, ready for painful headaches when they woke up.

"HRAAAH!" He heard the bartender scream, heard the bat whooshing through the air. Why did they even bother trying? Grayson wondered as he grab the bat out of the bartender's hands and snapped it in two with his hands. The bartender skittered back, but he tripped over one of the sleeping men. Grayson grabbed him by the lapels. The bartender's face twisted in fright, feeling the Batman's eyes upon him, even hidden by the pitch-black shades.

"Talk. Tell me everything the Joker's done since he's started recruitment drives here. Or I'll come back and bring a tank with me." The Batman growled.

"You have a tank?" The bartender stammered.

"Of course I have a tank. I'm Batman."

The bartender obliged.

* * *

><p>His nightly patrol continued for a few more hours. Even though the Joker was the big priority, there were other cases to tackle such as his plans to dismantle the gangs starting with that of Helena Bertinelli's. And not just the long-term plans. There were small chases and fights every night. Masked gunmen popping into convenience stores. Domestic disputes going physical. Prowlers cloaked in all-black going in and out of suburban homes. And so on, a list of so many things that Dick had seen since he gotten into the heroics business that stretched for miles before even getting to the costumed and powered freak part of the list. How did Bruce ever manage to go on for that long, and never give up? Another question to ask the man the next time he saw him.<p>

After he returned to the Bat-basement, as he was now calling it for lack of a better word, Dick gave a call to Oracle as he had his belated dinner – a platter of fries and a burger courtesy of Alfred.

"Find any dirt that I could use regarding Bertinelli, Oracle? I'd have found it myself, but the Joker, wherever that psycho is, has been keeping me busy."

"You'll have to be careful when you're trying to hook that one, Batman. She's not someone like the Joker that you can just punch until they're down and then the cops come away to drag them to Arkham. She's just like the Falcones and Maronis, clean legitimate presentation through stuff like businesses and charities. Enough money, enough power, enough anything to sway an entire jury's verdict or open up the gate to any of their men put behind prison… and if what I've learned after I took a peek at a few of her mob's recent transactions, she's not going to be twiddling her thumbs waiting for you to take her down."

"Assassins, you mean to say."

"Of course. Watch your back, Batman. What about the Joker?"

"Him? I found where Silky got hired by the Joker, and let's just say I learned a bit more after paying them a visit." Dick said as he entered some information into the computer's database. "The Joker's allegedly planning some big grand finale to his career… and he wants to ride out the wave along with his one true love… Batman."

"Something wrong, Batman? Other than obvious noises of your consumption of what I presume is clogging your arteries as we speak interlaced with our conversation?"

"Oh…" Dick looked down at his food and shrugged to himself. "Eh, sorry about that. But the Joker, when we first fought, he almost instantly realized that something was off. That I wasn't the original Batman and he wasn't pleased about that. But that's not what worries me. He's found out somehow."

"What?" He could hear the shock in her voice. "How the hell did that freak find out a secret that well hidden?"

"Hush. He got nearly all the big name crazies in Gotham working under him before the original Batman put an end to him. Should've expected him to tell a few of them."

"He sent one of his goons with a sniper rifle to the original nest. He was going to force Bruce's hand. If I hadn't gotten rough with a couple of informants, he very well might've put a more of my extended family into the grave." Dick told Barbara. But who knew how many people the Joker had killed already? He was only one man, and even with his training and experience, there was only so much he could do in one night. And knowing whose shoes he had stepped into didn't make matters easier.

"What are you going to do? Have… have you told him about this yet?"

Dick slumped, receding deeper against the cushioning of his seat as his eyes remained glued to the screen in front of him. Slowly, his fingers tip-tapped the buttons of the vast keyboard in front of him. He thought about the Joker, and felt chills bristle through him as he remembered the clashes he'd had with the Joker throughout his life behind a mask. And what the Joker had done. Crippled a lady Bat, killed a bird, and so many more…

"I want to… I feel dirty, keeping this from him. But I don't think it's going to do him any favors, dumping the fact that the world's most deranged homicidal lunatic now knows his big secret and is after him and his whole family. But there's one thing for certain…"

"What is it?"

"Isn't it obvious, Oracle? I'm going to crash his party."

Dick finished his food, typed his last set of commands. He looked at the base of operations around him. It was all here, the best of the best transplanted from the original cave. All the knowledge, all the weaponry, everything he'd ever need. His eyes landed last on the tarp covered vehicle at the farthest end. All black, custom-model, capable of achieving horsepower racecar drivers could only dream of. As Robin, Bruce had stuck him in the backseat. As he got older and eventually became Nightwing, he graduated to shotgun. But now, it was finally time to grip the steering wheel itself. He walked over to it, lifted the tarp off slightly, and managed to smile as he felt the cool metallic surface.

* * *

><p>It was morning, but the sun had yet to rise. The sky was littered with black clouds, and the roads were near empty. A torrential downpour of rain was falling. The police vehicle sped from the bustling heart of the city to the suburban districts. Somebody got murdered…<p>

"Sorry we didn't have time to do a proper introduction at the department, kid. Or as I should say, partner." Jim Corrigan asked as he leaned back and stared out of the window of their moving car. The rain splattered the window, and the wipers rhythmically sliced away the burst water before new drops fell to begin the cycle anew. "But alas, dispatch got the call."

"That's right. Dad wanted to introduce you to me personally. I hope he isn't too disappointed by this." The driver said, his eyes focused on the road. He was tall and clean-shaven, his hair was cut short and red. Wore a white-suit with a black tie, tan overcoat. The image of the rising young cop, future superstar of the force, was off-cut by the pair of plain glasses he had worn. But if he had chosen to grow a mustache, he'd almost be mistaken for his father – a veteran of the law in Gotham City.

"James Gordon, Jr. The commissioner's son in the flesh. Hmph, if I hadn't taken a look at your record before you transferred from Chicago, I'd raise my eyebrows as to how you became the youngest homicide detective in Gotham."

"My father pulled me no favors. We drifted apart the older I got, and it got worse after my mother got the divorce and took me to Chicago, leaving him and my sister in good 'ol crazy Gotham. I'm surprised he even wanted to talk to me or accepted the transfer."

"Doesn't sound like your memories of the town's too fuzzy, kid. That's depressing, but it's good. Makes the job go by easier."

"You're right. They're not. I almost fell of a bridge and splattered myself like a packet of ketchup, and I never really got along with Barbara. But it's funny, you know. The worse I remember something, the more it surprises me when I come across it again now. Like there was a kid I knew once named Ben. A friend of my sister's and he, well, he dunked me in a lake once on a camping trip for the laughs. I was sore about that all my life, so much so that I was certain that if I ever saw him again, it end with giving him a good one in the teeth. But yesterday, I chanced to stumble upon him while shopping for some stuff to put in the fridge. We hit it off better than-"

"I'm sure your homecoming is interesting and all, kid, but slow down. We're here. And it won't be pretty, knowing what city we're in." Corrigan cut him off, deliberately, almost sardonically.

"And I'd rather not be called kid, Detective Corrigan. I'm your partner. We're equals, and I'd prefer to be talked to as one."

Corrigan almost laughed. "Listen, kid, you may be the hot talk around all the precincts right now given your parentage and your record, but you're still very much the rookie here. I've been here almost as long as the Batman, and it's my job to show you how the force works in Homicide lest you crack like a few of my past partners. Take a moment to sit back and think about how lucky you are that you weren't placed in the hopeless gulag that is Vice or transferred to Bludhaven, and have some goddamn respect for my experience, kid."

"Yes… detective." James Gordon, Jr. looked away from Detective Corrigan as the police car slowed to a stop. In the distance, the skyscrapers of the cities loomed. As he stepped out, James took a look at them and pondered.

After the Second World War, when the veterans came home with post-war swagger to the greeting crowds and falling swaths, the population had spiked throughout the nation. Yet not all was perfect. It had been the end of the world war, but another war of a different nature was starting at home. It was at this time that suburbs began to sprout at the edge of Gotham. It was the perfect situation for any member of the smiling middle class – a place to live comfortable near Gotham City, without any of the drawbacks of having to live in the city itself. A sanctuary from the madness and evil that brews as the madwoman's eyes gleam and her heart pumps tainted blood… but no sanctuary's walls last forever.

Police sirens blaring. Yellow lines of tape being drawn. Stone-faced policemen standing barricade, hordes of media clamoring for the best shot and the best roll of video. A red-haired homicide detective, veteran of the force, having seen bad but never the worse that Gotham City knows. A younger partner, a smile still on his face as he thinks about what'll happen on the job today, come home at last.

The body has been mutilated. One of the eyes is missing, the limbs sawn off, and the jaw shattered. His tongue is flopping about as the body is dragged and covered, loaded into the blaring vehicle on its grand trip to the morgue. They'll think the Joker did this, of course, at first. He's the big talk around town right now, and he's already killed his fair share of folks. And no doubt that he's gonna want to kill more. But it isn't the Joker who has taken life in this cozy suburban address tonight. It is a killer who doesn't hide behind lunacy and garish costumes. And while the Batman is busy chasing after the clown and the other masked evils of old Gotham who wear their hatred proudly, this evil smiles and makes you a friend before the throat is slit.

More will die as the two detectives begin their investigation. But this is a story for a later night.

* * *

><p><em>The Day Arrives<em>

"Alfred, are you sure that you got this in my size? Bit tight 'round the neck." Dick asked as he looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a tuxedo, and his hair had been slicked and combed back. Underneath the tuxedo he wore the real suit. He had a gut feeling… no, if all the information he had gathered in the Joker investigation was true, he knew it. The Clown would strike tonight. And when he did, Grayson would be waiting for him.

"Dear lord, Richard Grayson, have you forgotten the simple nuances of slipping on a bow tie?" Alfred fussed as he adjusted pieces of Dick's suit. "Hmph. It's as if all those fancy events Master Bruce took you to were for naught. And after all the strings he pulled to get you this invitation."

"Alfred, you know those fancy dress balls and socials where the rich folks pass around their money and pills were never really my thing. Or Bruce's, to be honest. And besides, in college and in Bludhaven there wasn't really a lot of times where I need a tux. Stuff's harder than it looks, Alfred."

Alfred sadly nodded. "I understand, Master Richard, that this never was your style. Ah, I suppose that's what happens when your generation gets raised on Star Wars and men in tights saving the world on the TV news and mine the dashing tales of Sir Doyle and war news on the radio. But still, sir, it's a simple bow tie. Nary the challenging depths of a Riddler conundrum. And look, this part is definitely is not supposed to be loose. You can't go in one of Gotham's elite gatherings with your cuffs looking like that without being laughed off."

"That's definitely got me quivering, Alfred."

"Oh trust me, Master Richard, these high-society types are vicious. Sharks circling about in a sea made of blood, perpetually frenzied. Except here the blood's made of money and ego" Alfred chuckled. "You're the minnow here, sir. Be on your guard, young Richard. Monsters be here."

"So what does it make Bruce, Selina, and Helena in the great ocean of Gotham high life?" He almost said kids. Bruce's son had been a nice, eager kid. Idolized his "uncle" Dick Grayson almost as much as he had his own father. He'd asked Bruce Wayne, Jr. once what he had wanted to be when he grown up, and the kid had said he wanted to be a superhero like him and Bruce. Grayson had only chuckled back down, patted the kid on the back, and said maybe in a few years. When he'd asked the daughter, she'd only shrugged and briskly and briefly said she'd figure it out later. Every s

"Killer whales – wolves of the social sea-son. Or perhaps rather effective distributers of shark fin soup."

"Well, I certainly hope that Bruce doesn't like minnows on seafood day then." Dick joked as he strolled with Alfred to the elevator.

"Everything ready, Alfred? You know… the real deal."

"As you have requested, Master Richard. Everything needed to clutter up the evening news stations and websites again." Alfred told him as they descended down into the Bat-basement. "Now we mustn't dawdle, Master Richard. There's quite the invigorating ride on the limousine to ca-"

Dick yawned as the elevator opened its doors.

Alfred sighed. "Oh, not already."

* * *

><p><em>Evening <em>

For one night only, the spotlight of action in Gotham City falls upon the Milton Finger Memorial Building. They want the press, the media with their flashing cameras and smiling reporters to know that they've gone all out for the fundraiser. Everywhere the lights are flashing, someone rich is pretending to smile. Red carpets with golden barriers, five-star class chefs flown in to provide the culinary accommodations, all the wealth and all the class concentrated in one ballroom. The biggest names in Gotham are here. The Kanes, the O'Neils, the Wests, and of course, the Waynes. The young up-and-comers cut their names into the pie as well. Perhaps you've already heard of the GGM head Sonia Branch or the Rogues' star quarterback "Scoot" Snyder. Alas, Ms. Helena Bertinelli, who has already so graciously delivered much of her wealth to the good name of charity, was absent overseas on a Mediterranean vacation. But no doubt, even without her, there will be many people talking tonight about how good they're feel about giving away a sliver of their masses of money. Of course, it's not just the wealthy socialites and corporate moguls that have come to play tonight. Politicians like the Mayor, and don't be surprised to see the famous Commissioner Gordon reluctantly trying the cannoli. The organizers of the event even would have flown in the big names from out of town like Oliver Queen or Michael Holt or even the real superheroes themselves like the Man of Steel had the invitations hadn't been turned down so bluntly. A pity that names that certainly would've boosted the prestige of this event will not turn up, but the show must go on, and certainly, there will be a show tonight. Keep your eyes on the coming headlines.

Yet there is a cog loose in the machine that has been so intricately set up tonight. The last limousine to pull up, the last guest to step out on the red carpet. He's moderately famous, after all – aside from the boy named Jason buried as if he was blood on the Wayne Estate and a mere obscure footnote in the memory of Gotham's elite, who else can brag about having been adopted by the Bruce Wayne? But he was a kid then, and it's been a while since he's showed up at any of these events. Not all recognize him, and the least amount of cameras flash – but not like he has a problem with that. Dick Grayson is not here to party, but to wait. The cops that have been stationed, in the immediate vicinity and on the nearby rooftops, are an indicator that the Commissioner has been chatting with the legendary Batman yet again. But they don't worry, the guests of the party, that they may be in danger. Perhaps they don't even notice the policemen. None of them have ever dreamed about doing that sort of work, not when they can have anything handed to them at a snap. They're the one-percent. Life's an endless party – fame is good, power is easy, and wealth is forever.

Dick Grayson wandered through the vast ballroom, elaborate glass of champagne in hand. Or at least it looked at champagne, although it tasted nothing of the sort. Intoxication before crime-fighting never was the smartest of preparatory routes. Alfred was right, Dick realized as he observed and listened to the conversations taking place around him. What a sea of sharks he had leapt headfirst into. He spotted Bruce shrugging off a drunken councilman while Selina hung on his shoulder, nary a wisecrack spared at the drunkard's expense from her lips.

"Hello, Bruce."

"Hey, kid. Remember me?" Selina asked him.

"Yeah, Selina. I do. As I recall, in your very first meeting, you had me, how do I say this – tied up as a distraction while you stroked me like a kitten, and threatened to feed me to a pit of tigers." Dick said flatly.

"Hey, I was only joking… if I recall correctly. And what can I say?" She said with a wink. "I like tigers and all women have an unfortunate habit of tripping over you, Mr. Grayson. It's surprising you don't have a women in your arms tonight… or evidence of one on your finger."

"Hey, the courts and state law are kinda vague on interplanetary marriages… and as for the lady in question, she's been busy lately. 'Titanic' business, if you know what I mean. Mind if I have a moment alone here with Bruce?"

"Sure… not like I have to worry about looking over my shoulder to see what you're doing with him, unlike the ladies when they ask me." Selina said as she walked off, and instantly there were several single men trailing off after her.

"So what're you drinking, Bruce? Can't believe you actually invented a chemical compound that makes any liquid look like champagne."

"All part of the act, Dick. Couldn't afford to fight crime while drunk. And for the record, I'm actually drinking some hot chocolate. On a cold October day like this, it's a godsend."

"Damn you and your cocoa… I'm drinking root beer." Grayson said. "You know, about the…"

"Not here, Grayson. Too many prying ears, just waiting to blab it everything they hear next gossip night." Bruce said as he took a sip of his drink. "Damn, this is some good champagne..."

* * *

><p>They walked up the sweeping stairs, and then outside to one of the balconies.<p>

"Hi, Daddy. What are you doing here?" Helena Wayne said innocently as she sat on the edge of the balcony, her legs hanging over the edge and kicking back and forth. She wore a lilac-dress, a flower placed at the back of her head. Aside from her, there was no one else besides the former Dynamic Duo.

"You think here is good… to discuss the business?" Dick asked.

"Oh, don't worry, Uncle Dic- er, I mean, Richard." Helena said looking up at them. "You actually think I'm going to blab about you and Daddy's big secret?"

"Ha. You're right about that. What're you doing all the way out here, Hel?" Dick asked her. "Isn't it lonely?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind. I like being by myself sometimes. The view's nice and it stopped raining. Besides, I don't really like all these big parties with old people I don't know. And all those people shoving their cameras in my face… ugh. Sometimes I wish we weren't so famous, so we wouldn't have to go to events like these all the time. Can't even order a pizza without somebody trying to get it into what Mom calls the sleazy papers…"

"You aren't the only kid here, Helena." Bruce said. "Have you…"

"Sometimes, Daddy. But they're probably too strung out on their medication to really notice me." And you know I don't really like speaking to anyone who's not you or Mom or one of my friends. Helena told her father somewhat nervously. "You know, friends like Uncle Richard, Alfred, or my cat?"

"Not a lot of people you like speaking to then?" Dick asked. She nodded. "Well then, how are you going to get more friends if you aren't going to try talking to more people?"

"Who says I need them?" She asked back.

"Helena…" Bruce started. "You know what…"

"Yeah, I know what they said about me. But I don't really feel like doing what they suggest. And Uncle Richard…"

"Yeah?" She got up and got him to bend down. She whispered what she wanted to do in his ears. It really did run in the family. Now what was he going to do about it? It wasn't like he could just ask Bruce to sign a parental permission slip so she could put on a mask and risk her life under his watch.

"Well, Dad, I'm off to find Mom." Helena said.

"Just look for the huge crowd of desperate single guys if you don't find her immediately, Hel!" Dick jokingly said in advice. She waved 'bye to them before disappearing back into the building's interior.

"What did she tell you, Dick?" Bruce asked, looking at the skies as if he were still waiting for the sign that someone was needed for a case too great for the police force to handle.

"Oh, nothing important. The usual kid secrets about kid stuff, you know." Dick lied to Bruce. "So anyways… any thoughts on providing me with a suit that can stop a knife?"

"In designing your suit, I had to take into account your own methods… the heaviness and the durability of the armor was something I chose to sacrifice in favor of maneuverability. But of course, I can provide you with alternatives for when the time calls for it… any suggestions?"

"You know, I'm not really much of a cape person. There's a reason why I ditched the cape after I ditched the red and green. Think it's a possibility that you and Mr. Fox could design a Batsuit with retractable wings that you could pop in and out at your will? Would get rid of the need for a cape. Here, take this. I've been formulating a few ideas for it. I know I'm not as smart as you, Bruce, but still, I hope what I've drawn up is feasible…" Grayson reached into his coat pocket and handed Bruce some documents. Containing sketches and scribbling of thoughts.

"Well now… let's see, flight… built-in gadgets… cloaking device… size conformity… you were right, this does eliminate a whole lot of baggage." Bruce said as he looked over Dick's ideas. "Certainly would be useful. If I hadn't retired, something like this would've been useful in a few years."

"Music to my ears. So, when can I expect the UPS man to drop it off in my mailbox at the penthouse?" Dick asked.

"Oh, in perhaps a decade or so, based on my initial estimations. And that's just the prototype. Who knows how far off what you have drawn down here is? What you have proposed here, Dick, it won't be easy or quick to develop although it is possible, even with my fortune and the R&D department's expertise. The technology for all of this exists… but getting it into something as practical and aerodynamic as you have envisioned will be a challenge. Hhh… I could just ask Clark, but then again… maybe not."

"And also..."

"What?"

"Think I could get a tank as well? You know... a Bat-tank."

"Why do you need a tank?" Bruce asked him, puzzled.

"It's just something I was wondering..."

"Dick..." Bruce sighed. "Don't push my generosity too far... but I will put this suit of yours into development as Project Beyond. Just don't expect anything substantial from it for a long time."

"Beyond, huh? Nice tune to it. But, thanks Bruce, even if I'm not going to be driving a tank on Christmas morning. I'll try not to get stabbed or shot in the meantime." Dick said as Bruce walked back in with one final glance to the former Robin. He remained on the balcony, waiting.

* * *

><p>It came out of nowhere, unexpected. But when had expectations ever been something to predict when dealing with a clown like the Joker? What had been apathetic laughter as the guests at the fundraiser hung about in their own circles turned to horrified gasps as the cops who had been aside to stand guard suddenly fell into hysterical fits of rabid laughter as their eyes rolled back and their hands clutched at their throats as they fell over with their faces turning white. Then there was the burst of static in the intercom that had blared ignored announcements until now. And then the voice began.<p>

"_Weeeeeeell, hel-looooooo Gotham City! How's that for an opening act? I'm sure you're all impressed and ready to start clapping, but doooon't get ahead of yourselves – your pal Joker always saves his best punches for last!" _

Commissioner Gordon, spared from the white masque of death, grabs the communicator that will bring back up as he takes in the horror of all the sudden and dead good officers. He barks orders that will bring the SWAT straight to the heart of the problem, but it won't be enough. The Joker has prepared for such an occasion.

"_Ladieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees and gen-tlllllllllllllllllllllemen, the other night I was sitting alone by myself at a bar when suddenly come in waltzing in are an Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotsman, and eeeeeeeeeeven a Welshman! What happens? They loved they laughed they lived and they left! Oh I can hear the groaning already or saying you don't get it! Oh, how I haaaaaaaaaaaaaate it when you people groan! Brings back all sorts of memories that I would be much more happily forgetting!"_

_Damn it. _Bruce Wayne thinks to himself as his fists clench. _When will that clown ever stop for good? _Sometimes he wishes that he had snapped the Joker's neck when he could've, but then he remembers everything. He pockets what Grayson gave him, and he's pushing his way past the panic that's already overtaking the crowd and looking for his family.

"_But you know, it's not really how you tell the joke that matters. Fluff is no good, even if it is so love-vuh-ling-lee fluh-fee, if the punchline is no good! And sitting there in that bar, watching that cocky blondie in his grimy trenchcoat smoking his cigarettes, it made me realize something! It's all coming to an end… someday. We're all dying from the minute we're born, even if we haven't started feeling it yet. And I thought to myself… why not give all of you something to laugh and smile about? For starters, I've got my eyes on Laetitia England…" _

A woman, standing at the fountain in the center of the ballroom, laughed and smile as she fell backwards and made a big big splash. Simply soaked, bystanders scream like fire itself is burning away at their skin.

"_Public Works Commissioner Arthur Reeves…" _

A man is overcome with laughter and smiles as he claws at himself leaving red marks in the whitening skin and he crushes his glasses as he tumbles down the staircase as people scatter away from him and on his fall down his toupee falls off and when he hits the ground his neck is at an angle.

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnd just for good measure, Mr. Slott of Superior Enhancements Incorporated right here!" _

The man, upon hearing his name, is overcome by fright. Who could blame him? He bolts for the door, but his frightened pants soon became pained laughs. He trips midstep and his lips are extending into a smile as he thrashes about on the floor. As his last laugh dies mid-breath and his smile eternal, other people are bolting to the door.

"_Nuh-uh-uh, people. I wouldn't do that if I were you. Trust me, I'm holding the trigger. Go boom-boom-boom like Peter Gabriel if I see any one of you touch that door handle. Now, that was just an appetizer for the main course! And who better to be the highlight of our meal tonight than Gotham's veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-reeeeeeee ooooooooooooooooooooowwwwn Mayor Miller?" _

The Major swallowed, beads of sweat pouring down his head. His armed escorts, spared from the initial wave of protection culling, surrounded him. But to everyone's collective shock, he did not laugh nor did he smile.

"_It would be too easy… and I've already done it three times tonight! Repetition only makes a joke lose its effectiveness, and I'd haaaaaaate it for you lovely folks to stop laughin' while I'm on at stage. Nonononono, people, Mayor Miller's gonna get the All-Star treatment! So, without further ado…." _

"Tonight's entertainment, people! Hee hee!" The door was blown open, killing those who had gathered near it instantly. Gunshots were ringing outside. SWAT had arrived, and had gotten into a massive firefight with the Joker's squad. The sound of van skidding before it was cut off by a rocket tearing it apart. A woman in white face-paint with black eyeliner in a red-and-black jester's outfit escorted by several heavily armed men in suits in clown masks or make-up stepping in. Some man, trying to be a hero for the papers, rushed at her but Harley Quinn sent him him flying easily with a swing of her giant hammer.

* * *

><p>"Man! This is a turkey shoot! WEE-OOO!" The fat clown with the rocket launcher laughed as he loaded another missile. Another SWAT van was heading in, swerving past the smoldering wreckage of the last one. "What do ya say, Jerry? Um… Jerry?"<p>

The fat clown turned around.

He screamed.

* * *

><p>"Here sweetie-tums, get a good one for Facebook that I can show my puddin'!" Harley said as she posed for a quivering photographer. His finger slipping several times, Harley smiled throughout as he took flashes of her. Then she took the camera from him, and took a peek. Without warning, she smashed the camera to bits on the head on the photographer, knocking him out bloodily. "AAAAGH YOU MADE ME LOOK FAT! HOW WILL PUDDIN' LIKE THAT?"<p>

Harley stormed off, greedily helping herself to the refreshments. Then she looked at her men, just standing about, hands on their guns.

"Uh boys… have ya forgotten the plan? FRISK 'EM AND GET THE MAYOR OR I'LL TELL PUDDIN' YA LET THEM ALL GET AWAY!" Harley yelled while stuffing her mouth with white-frosted cake. "Mmm… this cake is wonderful! Whoever made this, I'm callin' when it's time for me and puddin's wedding! AND GET BACK TO WORK ALREADY!"

"Down on the ground!" The men began screaming. "Empty your pockets!"

"Hey, Selina!" Harley said as she finished her first slice, and waved to the former Catwoman earnestly as the goons continued barking orders at the panic-stricken crowd. "Lookin' good! You oughta come over here and tell me all your secrets!"

"M-mom… y-you know Harley Quinn?" Helena nervously asked as she clung to her mother.

"A long time ago… stay behind me, and run if I tell you to." Selina advised her daughter and then addressed Harley. "I'm not telling you anything. Stay the hell away from me and my family."

"Fine then, party-pooper. What happened to ya? You used to be fun..." Harley grumbled as she smashed in an elaborate crystal sculpture for fun with her hammer. "Red was right, ya got borin'! Remind me to never have kids…"

"Hey, ain't that the mayor? GET 'IM OR IT'S OUR HEADS INSTEADA HIS!" One of the clowns screamed as he pointed up, where the mayor and his escorts were trying to sneak out in the ensuing chaos. None of them noticed that the gunfire from outside had ceased. Picking off the outside teams placed by the Joker to prevent him from gutting the remaining officers and SWAT was his first priority.

He decided he had seen enough of what was going on inside. He'd have to play this one carefully, to minimalize or better yet outright prevent them. Harley had about fifteen men with her. All of them with guns. He'd take the ones with the automatic fire out first. It was good most of them were still cluttered up in groups, with Harley too busy stuffing her mouth with cake to notice what was hiding in the shadows above them. But still, a few people were going around the room now. And then there was the four heading towards the major.

He threw a flash-bang at the would-be mayor kidnappers. And then he cut the power.

"_Damn it!" _The Joker screamed. _"This is an original's only party! AND YOU AREN'T A MEMBER! GAAAAAAH! Harley, get him!" _

There was a flash of light and then the flash bang exploded underneath the feet of the clowns headed towards the mayor. They went flying into oblivion. Eyes were blinded, and some of them dropped their weapons, clitter-clattering on the floor. The Batman swooped down, a great swooshing noise heard as he opened up his wings and glided downwards. Great pillars of smoke extended as he did.

"GACK!" One of the men went as the Batman's boot smashed into his throat. He moved quickly, disabling every man he came across with precision and pain.

"_I… hate… you!" _

"Hey Bat-freak! Step closer and I'll put a bullet through Pretty Boy Wayne's heaaaaaagh!" At least retirement didn't mean that Bruce wasn't going to fight back. Batman smiled as he saw Bruce with ease throw the clown at one of the windows. The glass shattered and the clown screamed all the way out.

"Uh…" Said the man next to Bruce Wayne. "I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use iigh!" The Commissioner knocked him unconscious with his own gun.

"Yeah, so am I."

"Hey, the mayor's getting' away!" Harley said. She swung at Batman, who easily blocked her hammer and ripped it from her hands. But she was slipperier, and she flipped over him. She did cartwheels up the stairs, and the remaining thugs began to run after their boss.

"_Grrrr… you'll be sorry for this! In spades when you see what holy terror I got in store for Mayor Miller in this city of sin! Ahahahahahahaha!" _

He heard the click of a pistol. Batman's heart did not skip a beat. After all… this wasn't the first time someone had tried this on him. Bruce had taught to him over a hundred ways to deal with such a situation, and oh boy, some of those methods hurt bad enough to make any gunman swear off firearms forever.

"Yo Bats, think fasoogh!" The clown and his gun fell to the floor. Standing over him with Mrs. Selina Kyle Wayne with a large platter that had been dented after she smacked the clown with it.

"Um… I had him." Batman said as people began to run out the exits. The SWAT and cops were pouring in opposite them, weapons trained on the surrendering clowns. Selina winked at him as she tossed the platter aside.

"Yeah, I know."

"Wow, Mom… that was cool." Her daughter added.

"Whatever, kitten. Just doing my civic duty. Ah, the grief counselor and his psych friends are going to have a field day if he ever finds out that you find your mom smashing people unconscious cool..." She mumbled the last part to herself. "Now let's find your dad and get out of here." They rushed off.

"Batman…" The Commissioner said, dusting off his coat. "Harley Quinn's gone after the Mayor. He went off in one of his cars… bulletproof… but knowing the Joker, that may not be enough."

"She won't get him. I'll make sure the Mayor gets to safety. And from Harley… I'm going to get answers. Now, make sure these people all get to safety, Commissioner."

"You need one of our vans?"

"No, I brought my own. But thanks, nonetheless." Batman said as a panel on his gauntlet opened up, revealing a number pad. He punched in a four-digit code and he ran, following Harley's path.

* * *

><p>"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH! EAT LEAD, YOU 'LIL PIGGY-WIGGIES!" Harley Quinn laughed as she sat in the back of a customized muscle car with an open top painted green and purple, firing at the pursuing cop cars with a heavy caliber machine gun. They swerved through chaotic downtown streets, chasing after the Mayor's limousine. People are screaming, a child cries for her mother. Cars were colliding in desperate attempts to avoid the fatal chase. Someone is crying out for help. The sound of bullets rumbling off of Harley Quinn's machine gun deafens everything. One of the bullets pops the front tires of the first cop car, and it flips over. Then her bullets pop the gas tank of the second cop car and it becomes ablaze. Creating a flaming barricade as it collides with the first cop car, killing all.<p>

"Oink-oink!" Harley laughed triumphantly. Smooth sailing from here on out. They were gaining on the Mayor's limo. And Mister J, he was going to be so proud of her when she returned with the red fatso in ropes to her.

"Um… boss…"

"Yeah?" Harley asked impatiently as she got ready to turn her gunfire onto the Mayor's limo.

"What the hell is that sound?"

Rumbling. Like an earthquake, headed their way. Screams of peds in the background that were turning into cheers.

"Whatever it is, it ain't gonna get past those flamin' cops back ther-OHMIGOD!" The shotgun clown screamed as something large and black smashed through the wreckage as if it were made of sand.

"Aw, poopy!" Harley said as she opened up fire on the Batmobile as it thundered towards them. The bullets bounced off the surface of the Batmobile, leaving no dents. "WHY DONTCHA EVER LOSE A WHEEL WHEN I NEED YA TO?"

"Ohmigod, what are we gonna do?" The driver asked, panicked.

Harley snapped her fingers and the shotgun clown decked the driving clown across the face to calm him down.

"Ouchie! What was that for?"

"Just shut up and drive, willya! Forget about that dumb Mayor for now… we gotta get outta this place!" Harley screamed as she continued blasting away to no effect.

The clown car shot through the streets, on both lanes. Zig-zagged through alleyways. Improvised all shortcuts Harley could bark at her driver to take. But they could never shake off the Batman. This was his city. The city was a body, the streets her veins and the cars that ran through her blood. Like the first guardian of the night, he'd been shaped by the city. The cruel torments that ran through her mind, two loved ones falling to their deaths. But he had not allowed the darkness that shattered his life to reshape him. This was his city, and he had taken upon his mentor's never-ending mission to clean it of the evil that took the lives of those dear to them. He had learned the city and it, the best and worst it had shown him. The clowns were only fooling themselves if they thought they could escape his eyes in this city.

"There, there!" Harley Quinn yelled as they veered through a section of the city that had never been repaired after the earthquake. Here, everything was falling apart. Now, only the transient and bad ever wandered into this section of town. They took a sharp turn through a row of buildings that Harley hoped too narrow for the Batmobile to fit through. She was wrong. The Batmobile simply shot missiles from its front that send the abandoned and derelict shells where life had once been and sped on through.

"WHEEEEEEEEE!" Harley shouted in spite of her fear as the car took a rough tumble down a slope like a rollarcoaster. The Batmobile hit a nearby ramp, flying high onto a rotting highway overpass.

"Over there! Over there!" The Clown Car skidded to a stop near one of the Joker's safehouse. Harley, laughing, vaulted out of the Clown Car with her goons right as the Batmobile smashed into it.

"BOYS, GUANO INCOMING!" Harley shouted as more of Joker's men began to pour out of the seemingly abandoned houses.

Batman ejected from the Batmobile. He stood before them, as it started to rain again. Joker's men, holding knives and bats and guns. Fear was in their eyes. This would be quick. Harley stood at the center.

"Harley Quinn. Joker's men. Give up and I'll let you keep all of your teeth and bones." The Batman ordered.

"I have better offer." A voice, heavy Russian accent, amongst the Joker's men popped up. Harley stepped aside, and emerging from behind her was a tall muscle-bound man with his face down like a clown and his long hair hanging downwards dyed green. His right arm was missing, and the left arm gripped a long, steel hammer. "You run now… or Mister Hammer squash you like rat you are, Betmen."

Where the hell did the Joker find these guys?

* * *

><p>Mayor Miller's breathing slowly returned to normal, and the limo stopped speeding so drastically. The Joker had made a threat on his life, his life… and he had somehow managed to get away from that fiend… with the help of the Batman, that is. Still, he couldn't help but see laughing men in every shadow and fear that every passing car contained another batch of heavily armed circus freaks.<p>

"That was nothing short of a miracle." His aide, Klaus Nichols, said as he looked down at his watch.

"Are we heading back to the…"

"No. Anywhere in this city, you might be vulnerable. It's best we head out, maybe to Metropolis, until the heat dies down. Got a bridge closed down just for us… Can't have Joker get you in another attempt…"

"Metropolis, huh? Superman lives there most of the time, doesn't he?" Miller said, spying an opportunity. "Elections are coming up, and I've grown comfortable in my seat. Don't think I really want to leave it. Superman and Batman… hmm… I smell photo-op, don't you?"

"A photo of you with the Man of Steel and yes, even the dreary Dark Knight, would certainly help you finally overtake that upstart Morrison in the polls." His aide said. "Ah, here it is."

The police barricade at the Robert Kane Bridge opened to the let the Mayor's limo through. The Mayor breathed a final sigh of relief. At long last, out of the fire. Then his phone rung. Calmly, he took it and answered.

"Who is this?"

"Heeheheheheheheehoohoo… you know who this is, Mayor Miiiiiil-leeeeeer. It's the man who laughs!"

Oh God.

"H-h-how did you get this number?"

"Oh, fatso… I'm the Joker. What I want, I get. And you know, I promised the people of Gotham earlier boom-boom-boom… but the truth is, I never had wired up the Milton Finger place for the big show… but on the other hand, I did plan ahead of schedule in case of a little interference courtesy of the Bat..."

"Oh no." The Mayor said. "Look, J-j-joker. I've got a lot of money. And not just money. C-c-connections. I can get you anywhere you wan"

"Listen, Mayor... you think if I wanted your stinkin' money I would kill you? No, I would rob you! I'm trying to kill you because I want to kill you! And also... I really really hate the Robert Kane Bridge. Sheesh, such a damn eyesore! And all those poor taxpayer dollars shoved into it... that I could've stolen!"

"I'm... I'm [BLEEP] aren't I?" The Mayor said as everyone in car's jaws dropped in utter terror.

"Precisely. And now… fireworks." The Joker giggled and cut the call.

And immediately, the entire bridge was ablaze as the madman's silent laughter hung over it.

Stay tuned for election day... the political climate has just turned topsy-turvy.

* * *

><p>"What the?" Batman shouted out loud as he whirled his head, seeing the flames rising in the distance.<p>

"Uh oh, Fatman, it looks like Mistah J has outsmarted ya yet again!" Harley taunted. _The Mayor… damn it. _

"Run little Bat. Before I crush you." Mister Hammer threatened Batman, towering over him. He swung around his hammer menacingly with just his left arm, and the swarm of henchmen and Harley began to hoot. A cry for blood. The crowd was brimming for a fight, and blood certainly would be shed. It would be grueling, the ultimate test of the Dark Knight's prowess. The giant Russian raised his hammer, specks of rain hitting and rolling down his shirtless body tattooed with insignia of the Joker. "IT IS COWARD KILLING TIME!" This would be an ultimate confrontation, between sheer strength and longtime skill. And as such the fight began with Mister Hammer as he fi

Batman kicked upwards.

Mister Hammer keeled, dropped his hammer, and summarily fell onto the dirty ground, writhing in pain as rainwater fell onto him.

Seeing their champion fallen, the other clowns began to back off. Perhaps planning to run, but Batman had hidden behind his back his other hand priming one of his toys. Electric-shock remote-controlled batarang. On a rainy day like this, it would leave you extra-jittery on the ground for a long time before you regained bodily control. And he released it, striking down all of the henchmen, leaving only Harley Quinn stranding.

"Harley Quinn." He stood over her. In spite of all she had assisted the Joker in doing, Batman felt no particular hatred for her like some of his other foes. She was merely sick in the mind, a lost soul that would never be fished out of the ocean. "You're going to tell me everything you know."

"Like hell I will!" Harley stuck her tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. "My puddin' told me that you ain't the real B-man. You ain't gone scare anything outta me!"

"Harley, look… you're just going to sit back while the Joker murders everyone in Gotham City!"

"If it means gettin' a ring on our fingers, then he can murder the whole world."

"Harley, come on…"

"Mock me all ya want!" Harley shouted at him. "But I'm not blabbin' a single thing about my Mister J to ya! What, you gonna hit me until I talk?"

Batman looked down at her. He gazed deep into her eyes, and he did not blink as he did so. A different set of eyes… but what burned in them was the same.

"I won't. But I will tell you something, Harley… you really think that he loves you?"

"Yes, he does!"

"Look at you. You have a mirror right? You may cover them up with all the make up you can, but all the eyeliner in the world won't hide those bruises, Harley. You're no different from the rest of the henchmen he's worn out. You're just another asset that he uses to his advantage and tosses aside when he doesn't need it anymore. And this is going to be his grand hurrah… and he's not going to be standing anymore when the curtain's dropped… you really think he's made a seat for you on his ride with Charon?"

Harley did not answer, but he could read faces.

"No, Harley. He's never loved you. You've had so many chances to let go of this mad love of yours… escape from what he's drawn you into." Batman told her.

"B-but, he s-says that he l-loves me!" Harley insisted.

"Only to make sure you never escape, Harley, as long as he needs you. You think that anyone who really loves you would have hit you all the times he has? Or said all the nonsense he slings at you everyday? No, Harley… he never loved you. He only loved one thing… and that is the Bat itself…" He pointed at the symbol of the Batman hanging in the sky above them.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" Harley cried. "It isn't true, is it? IT CAN'T BE TRUE! MY MISTER J WOULD NEVER DO A THING LIKE THAT!"

"Really? Then where is he now?" Batman asked. "How come he hasn't come to save you if he loves you so badly?"

Harley fumed. She was breathing heavily, her make-up stained and her face paint runny. "Alright, I'll help ya, B-man. But if I find out you're lyin', there's gonna be REAL HELL to pay!"

Batman put her in cuffs, then led her into the Batmobile.

"So where we headin', Batso?"

"To the police station. You're going to be asked a lot of questions, and you better not lie to anybody while you're there." Batman warned her.

"Ok… so um… can we get ice cream on the way? If what ya tellin' me about Mister J is true, I need something to cheer me up… ooh, and maybe a visit to the zoo so I can feed all the funny animals too! Throw poison to his favorite ones…" The last bit under her breath.

"Listen if you're cooperative, I might put in a good word for Commissioner Gordon to get you some later…" Batman sighed. He should've taped her mouth up, as he would regret during the rest of the drive back to the police headquarters. She never stopped talking or asking questions. He hoped that what she told them would be it… the time to finally take that smile off of the Joker's face.


	7. All Ends At Midnight

The fairground at the boardwalk has gone to hell. Dead bodies are strewn about, discarded half-eaten cotton candy and funnel cakes not too far from where they fell after they realized just what was off with the taste of the free concessions. In the distance, an explosion goes off and with it part of the roller-coaster track. A chain of cars goes plummeting as the riders scream all the way down. And at the edge of the pier, the Gothic guardian of Gotham takes his final breaths as he collapses against the railing, dangerously close to falling over. His mind tries to resist, tries to keep fighting, but already his body is collapsing in a fit of laughter. And the man who laughs, a pale clown whose grand finale has come to pass, stands over him as he lovingly strokes the giant needle he has used to poison the Batman.

"I warned you that yoooooou could never hurt me, neeeeever stooooooop meeeeee, you little faker!" The Joker laughs, but then his scarred smile frowns as he realizes. "Only he could… only he could… but he never came back…"

The Batman, in his final wretched seconds on this mortal plane, can only laugh.

"Finally, I've made Batman laugh." The Joker continues to frown as he sets his needle down. "But… you aren't the Batman. You aren't my bat… now that just takes the fun out of everything."

The Batman continues to laugh as he loses his balance and he falls over the railing, into the murky waters of Gotham Bay, never to be heard from again.

"But still…" The Joker looks over at the water once, at the expanding ripples, and then at the city, unaware of the carnage that has consumed the merry carnival. "…I know you're out there somewhere. In the city, in the shadows, in the skies above. You're still watching me like you always have. How many of your little disciples am I going to have to maim or murder before… you do the sensible thing?"

There is no answer.

"Oh well, I suppose that that means a whole lot more then before you come back to me… darling."

The Joker pulls out the detonator and he pushes the red button. And in seconds, the whole of Gotham City is ablaze. But the Joker does not laugh for once. He merely watches and he waits.

* * *

><p>"GAH!" Dick woke up with a jolt and a scream. Confused, he looked all around. No, this wasn't the cold embrace of the depths of the cold harbor. He was still in his penthouse at the Wayne Foundation, still wrapped in warm sheets on a soft mattress. And the sun was up and Gotham City was not on fire.<p>

"Something the matter, Master Richard?" Alfred asked as he walked in with a Continental platter.

"Nothing, Alfred. Just a nightmare. I couldn't stop him, Alfred, stop the Joker. He destroyed Gotham, and then I woke up." Dick shook his head as he sipped the cup of coffee than Alfred had brewed, half-heartedly dipping the croissant into the coffee before taking a small bite. "What if…"

"Master Richard, I do understand the great pressure that has been placed upon your shoulders, but remember… the Joker is but a man. A man with a great superstition that he has crafted around himself with his despicable deeds, but a man nonetheless. And he can be stopped like any other common crook in Gotham."

"Well, thanks for the pep talk, Alfie. And one more thing…"

"What is it, Master Richard?" Alfred asked.

"No more spicy food for dinner, alright, until I bag the Joker, alright? I think some milder grub after patrol will help me sleep better until then…" Dick yawned as he planned. He probably should go and ask Bruce if he had any spare work at Enterprises or the Foundation to take up the hours before investigation and patrol once all of this hub-bub with the Joker ended.

Alfred sighed. "Very well, Master Richard, although I fail to see how you have correlated the cuisine of the Jiangxi province to your grisly nightmares."

* * *

><p>He was in the Bat-basement in front of the computer, looking over everything he had learned from Harley Quinn and the rest and everything he still needed to know. But with the Joker, did you really ever know everything? He wasn't even sure if that laughing lunatic did. Then he heard the elevator doors ding and slide open.<p>

"What is it, Alfred?" Dick asked as he slid his chair around. "Oh, it's you… shouldn't you be in school, Hel?"

"Um, Uncle Richard, school ended an hour ago." She was wearing a plain-white t-shirt, purple shorts, black backpack. The raven-haired youth strolled up to the steps to the computer where Grayson was currently seated in front of, and she leaned back against some nearby railing.

"Oh, I see. So, what exactly are you doing here, then, Hel? Shouldn't you be doing your homework then?"

"Don't worry. I came prepared." She said as she sat down and pulled out a few folders from her backpack and a bag of pencils.

"How did you even get in here?"

"Oh, Mom asked Alfred to let me see you while you were 'working.' He wanted me to stay and wait, but Mom convinced that I'm old and responsible enough to go down without bothering you. They're upstairs right now, talking about…" Helena shrugged. "Cat stuff, I guess. So whatcha doing, Uncle?"

Dick talked while he typed. "Oh, not much, Hel. Just looking over a database in my on-going hunt for the world's most deranged criminal lunatic. How your Dad ever managed to deal with the Joker all the times he had to without going insane himself, I'll never know…"

"Can I have a look?" Helena asked him.

"Sorry, kid. This stuff is strictly R-rated. Wouldn't want that lovely black hair of yours going white ahead of time." Dick said apologetically. "Come back and see me in six or seven years."

"I'm sure that whatever you're looking at is much more interesting than math, but oh well…" Helena sighed as she jotted down an equation on a piece of paper. "So Uncle Richard, can we talk about… you know?"

"What?"

"You know, training me to be a crimefighter like you and Dad. If you're Batman, let me be your Robin."

"Sorry, no can do. You're just a kid. And the people on the streets these days, most of them aren't going to give a damn that you're just ten before they pull the trigger. There's a reason why your father retired the Robin mantle before you were born."

"Hey, I may be just a kid, but I'm not stupid. I'm not saying I want you to take me out with you right now, I'm asking for you to teach me like Mom's doing!"

"Wait, your mom is teaching you how to fight crime?"

"Well, teaching me stuff that could be useful in fighting crime. She was Catwoman after all, but there's only so much I can learn from Mom. Dad knew different stuff I need to know, stuff he taught to you. Can't you show me?"

"Does your dad know about this?" Dick asked her as he swiveled around in his chair to face Helena.

"Um… not really. I… I don't think Dad will want me to have anything to do with crime-fighting. Not after what happened to my brother… but I'm sick of knowing that there are people like piece of…"

"Watch your language."

"Sorry, Uncle Richard, but I'm tired of being unable to do anything about bad people who hurt good people and watching my Dad who used to stop them every night not do anything about it anymore because he's still sad!"

Dick sighed. "But Helena, although I know that you genuinely want to be a superhero, I can't do it. Not even a little bit of training. And don't be too hard on your dad. You don't know half of everything he's had to sacrifice just by being the Batman…"

She crossed her arms. "Why not? Why can't you teach me?"

"Because your father trusts me more than anyone. That's the only reason I'm here right now, picking up where he left off. He came for me in a time when I was all alone. And he helped me out of that pit, something I'll be eternally indebted to your father for. And I won't endanger our trust and our friendship by putting his last child in danger behind his back."

"Ugh…" She looked downwards, lost in thought of what to say next. "Uncle Richard, what am I going to have to do to get you to train me?"

"Your dad's permission."

"But… but…"

"You got your mom to go along with it, didn't you? So Hel, what's so hard about convincing your dad?"

"It's not the right time. I don't feel safe asking him. Not when he's been so gloomy lately…" She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and looked over her shoulder cautiously. "Maybe… you can, um… talk to him for me? You said he trusts you more than anybody…"

"I guess I can when I have time, but don't expect any instant magic…" Dick said.

"Thanks. So, can I throw one of your batarangs at least? I promise I won't hit the wall or anything..."

"Not without your dad's permission slip."

"Pretend to drive the Batmobile?"

"Get your pretend driver's license from the Wayne Manor DMV first."

"Can I at least hit that punching bag over there? I do have a karate black belt, after all…" Helena asked him, impatient. She really was not going to let him out of this one without her in possession of the last word, was she? Stubborn, just like her dad, it seemed.

"Alright. Just go easy on i-" His last word was cut off by the cracking, thunderous sound of a heavy impact piercing the bag like a cannonball. There was a dent in its form when it finished swaying a few seconds later.

"See you, Uncle Richard!" She waved bye to him and he waved back as she stepped back into the elevator.

Back to work then. He brought up a picture of the Axis Chemicals Plant, in its current derelict state as well as an old archival photograph of a man in a tuxedo. Who wore a cylindrical red helmet and a red cape.

_No one knows who the Joker was before he laughed his first laugh. I'm not even sure if the man who laughs knows it himself. A doctor at Arkham once told Bruce that the Joker reinvented himself every day, giving himself a new origin, a new pinpoint to how it all began every time the sun dawned. The Joker himself said to Batman that all he could remember for certain was that whatever made him what he was behind the multiple choices he presented, it was a bad day. But could this have been the Joker? A man in a red hood who fell off the face of the world as he plummeted towards a vat of acid? Could everything, everybody that the Joker killed since then, been undone had Batman managed to catch him before he fell? Is that why he's set up all the operations in this abandoned chemical plant? _

_What's the use in wondering? I can't change the past. There's no way to stop the two bullets in Crime Alley, no way to spread the net across the ring of Haly's in time to catch the falling, no way to stop every bad day. But the present… that is very much malleable. Already, I've let the Joker kill too many people, with the big names like the Mayor just the tip of the iceberg I've let linger in the sea for too long. _

_How many more? _

Dick walked away from the computer. The storage unit where he kept the suit slid from out of the floor and opened up. He held the helmet with the pointed ears in his hands and he looked into it.

* * *

><p>"This is the broadcast the Joker made when he hijacked the evening news." Commissioner Gordon, his tone grim, told Batman as they stood on the rooftop of the GCPD building. The Batsignal's light was shining in the sky as the skies greyed before the coming evening. A portable TV was before them. Bullock put a tape into the dust-covered VCR. And the tape whirred into life after a rough buzz of black and white static. The tape throughout was staticky, shakily-filmed. But Batman could tell that it was being filmed at the fairgrounds at the boardwalk. Where his nightmare had been set.<p>

"What happened?" Batman asked the Commissioner.

The Commissioner took off his glasses and rubbed the slope of his nose. "Harley Quinn told us that the Joker was planning to hit the fairground, killing as many people as he could. We got the place closed down, evacuated the premises of civilians. But that didn't stop some damn news channel from trying to get the scoop. Next thing we know, he's taken hostages and dead media personnel and the Joker's got the entire damn SWAT force at arm's length."

Batman watched the TV screen.

"I don't want to film this!" He could hear the cameraman begging. Then the man's begging turned to screaming as the camera grew shaky and the sound of it being dropped. A bit of blood splashed the camera's lens and then there was the purple-gloved hand of the Joker wiping off the blood. The Joker turned to the camera, his scarred mouth extending into a deranged smile filling the screen with cracked yellow teeth. The Joker angrily grimaced. "Gotta do everything myself here, don't I?"

The Joker picked up the camera and he propped it up. In front of the camera was an arrangement of five chairs. In four of the chairs were dead news reporters, their eyes rolled back and their lips curled open forever in a smiling death and their faces had been painted white and red. In the center of the gruesome arrangement was a newswoman, her face lapped with tears, mouth gagged. Background, there were several armed men in clown masks. The Joker's hand came into frame, and plucked off her gag. She screamed, before one of the clowned men gave her a smack across the back of her head.

"Now, now, don't scream. That upsets me very much." The Joker was speaking. "Why don't you people ever laugh? Everything makes so much more sense when you do. I used to laugh all the time, but oh woe, I do believe I no longer quite fit in with these times. Oh, I've tried so hard to make all of you laugh, you miserable Gothamites. I've reinvented myself so many times, from your harmless Uncle Joker to the man you're listening to right now, so many times I don't even bother counting anymore just to stay relevant! But you know what sickens me? You've never really laughed, none of you. You only fear me. You only scream when I perform. None of you will ever realize that we're nothing but players on a stage, and life is but a comedy of the damned. Why else would we be living in a world where men in tights are streaking across the skies punching giant gorillas in the owie-wowie?"

The Joker stepped in front of the camera, behind the captive newswoman, stroking her cheeks. "But nevertheless, I must go out with a bang, rather than a whimper. A career such as mine, in spite of how you may have perceived it, deserves nothing less. So without further ado, a golden oldie. Let's see how far you, Gotham City, will go to save your own lives. I shall prove to you that all along, you were just laughing like I have. There's no difference between you and I, only I realize it first. In the end, there is no hope. No heroism. No escape. There is only laughter. No man in a cape is coming to save you this time."

The Joker stepped back. He flicked open two pocketknives. And he put them in mouth of the newswoman, against the corners of her mouth.

"So you must be wondering as to how I will accomplish this. Who, me? No good comedian can get his act across without a little bit of audience interaction. You people should be honored. I remembered not to leave you out… why don't you take a gander outside and look in your mailbox right now? Are you back yet? Perhaps you've got one, right? These triggers, so modest. Ah, perhaps you consider yourself smarter than me? Why would I push the trigger when I know it will kill us all? Ah, but you see, each bomb only takes out a small chunk of the city! Each trigger sets a different bomb off! Perhaps it even a bomb you're sitting on right now! Ha! Who will you take out with just one click? Who will take you out? And if I don't hear any big booms by midnight, well… I've got a trigger of my own."

He took it out and showed it to them.

"What'll it be, Gotham? Your lives or theirs? One section of Gotham goes up in flames, and the city is spared… but can you live with the blood you spilled to save yours? Destiny is in your hands. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The Joker laughed as he slid his arms away from each other, carving two thick cuts into the newswoman's cheeks. The Joker's laughter was the last thing heard as he pulled out a revolver and he fired at the camera.

"No!" Batman said. "What happened next?"

The Commissioner shook his head. "SWAT stormed the place. Tried to rescue the remaining hostages. They managed to kill and capture most of the Joker's men, but he got away. And when we checked our mail, we found…"

Bullock showed Batman the box. In it rested a green trigger with a purple button, and a note that said "Give poor Babs my regards, Jimbo – XOXO Joker"

"We won't pull the trigger. But I don't know if I can say the same for the rest of this city. No one's done anything yet, but the closer it gets to midnight, I don't know." Gordon sighed as he looked over Gotham City. "Someone's got to find this clown and take him down before the hour comes. Batman…"

"What is it?" Batman asked as he looked over the edge.

"You never used to linger behind like this, in the past. Always were off before I could ever finish what I had to say. Real damn annoying, but I got used to it. But tonight…"

"Like the Joker said, things are changing.I've had a change of thoughts, Commissioner. You're more than just an ally to me. You're a valuable friend, and a friend wouldn't leave another hanging like I've done in the past with no warning." Batman said before he leapt off the edge and extended his cape to glide.

"I said I got used to it…" The Commissioner looked up at the sky. "Now I've got to get used to this…"

* * *

><p>The fairground was deserted at first sight, nothing but the bodies of the dead and trailing litter as wind scattered it. The Batman somberly wandered past the deserted concession stands, beneath the shadow of the still Ferris wheels and rollercoasters. He searches the every light and every shadow for clues as to where to pursue his quarry. With the built-in state-of-the-art technology in the special lens in his helmet that he has dubbed the Detective Vision over the overly complicated formal name that Bruce and Lucius gave it, he sees all. But he cannot pick up any forensic trail that does not end in a dead end. And the man underneath the mask feels it. The forbidding sense of failure. The voice that tries to tell him that by now, his predecessor would've stopped the Joker. No one would've died. He's tried to emulate the original Batman, but he's achieved none of the old man's success. That's the reason why he was the hero and you the sidekick.<p>

"Hey, Bat-freak!" Beer bottle is thrown at him. With quick reflexes, the Batman catches it. He's walked into a clearing. Men hidden behind clown-masks and make-up are coming out from the shadows. Weapons made to kill in their hands. "The buck stops here!"

If he cannot find answers, he will have to beat it out of them. They are upon him almost instantly. No hesitance that they would've given to his predecessor. The fear, the urban legend that Bruce Wayne had crafted around the Batman to prey upon criminal superstition, superseded by the word of the mad Joker. They do not fear him. He is not inhuman vengeance taken upon the form of a man, he is a mere man in armor. But that does not mean that they outmatch him or cannot be hurt by this Batman.

He grabs one clown and sends him into a cluster of others, totaling them like bowling pins. Before they can get back up, he takes out a metallic ball from a pouch in his utility belt and throws it at them and as it expands into a net they are pinned. He vaults over the shoulders of a larger clown and hits him from the back with a boot to the spine before sending Batarangs into the forearm of a clown with pistols. A clown attempts to hit him with a baseball bat before the Batman intercepts his swing and brings the handle of the baseball bat thrusting into his belly. The clown is left vomiting as the Batman snaps the wooden bat in two. Punch to the head. Jab to the throat. Years of practice have tuned the strikes of the Batman to such a precise state that no fallen man dies but the pain will never go away. But he takes no pleasure in defeating them. They were overconfident, stupid.

The last man loses it. He tries to run. But the Batman pulls out his grappling hook and he catches the man, drawing him back to him like a fishing reel.

"Talk." The Batman growls.

"G-gotham Res-servoir!" The man stammers with fear renewed before the Batman knocks him out.

* * *

><p>When the Batman arrives at the Gotham Reservoir, his heart is beating. The Joker can only be here for one reason. To finish what he tried to start so many years ago. He sped over in the Batmobile as fast as he could. He exited as soon as the vehicle skidded to a stop, ran as fast as he could. Once again, he was too late to save the employees at the reservoir. They died smiling, and he has no time to see who they are as he run pasts them. But where he expects to find the Joker ready to poison the water that supplies a city of millions, he instead finds a large cut-out model of the Joker holding a model TV built into the head near the edge of the water. As he steps, the TV flickers to life.<p>

"Hello, darling. I'm so glad you could make it here tonight. Brings back the memories doesn't it? Oohhoohoo, I remember how you held me over that poisoned water. I could see in your eyes, feel in your hands, how badly you wanted to drop me and get this entire hubbub over with! And every time afterwards when you broke all my bones so badly I couldn't move for an entire year, I couldn't help but lick my lips and wonder just how badly you wished that you did drop me into the water. But you never followed up, no matter how close you came, darling, because you had to lie and convince yourself that you were better than the rest of us. Well, guess what, Batman. The whole world's an asylum and we're all its inmat-wait. You're not my darling." The Joker's face on the screen frowned. "You just won't stay down, will you?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Let me ask you something, bird-brain." The Joker said. "I do admit that I stopped by here earlier, offed the employees, and did consider adding my special recipe Joker venom to the H-2-O, but looking at that city in the distance with its skyscrapers and its sparkling lights, I felt sick. No, I want Gotham City to die by tearing itself apart, instead of drinking the wrong batch of Kool-aid. But let's say that I did add poison the water and you had me by the ankle hanging over it. Would you let go?"

"No. Because that would be giving you want, you freak." Batman replied.

The Joker laughed. "Nonononono. Ha. You think I give a damn if you killed me or not? No… getting you to kill me would be no accomplishment. You're not him, oh, the real deal with all his rules. No guns, no killing, oh, he stuck to so many rules! Why he did, I'll never know! And let's be honest, I don't care either! As long as the game's worth playing, I'll join in! But then he disappears after he turns Hush into head-splatter on the pavement because he finally broke the golden rule, and then you show up… you… YOU FAKER! Ah, pity. I never was able to get him to break… maybe the 'ol Guano-man really was Bruce Wayne. I never believed Hush when he told me, because comedy's a lying man's game, and after all, that big pointy broody mask and growl _was_ the real face. But all the arrows are pointing… Why else would he have gone berserk when Hush just kills one rich brat and only gives me a full-body cast when I killed Robin, crippled 'ol Jimbo's daughter, killed Jimbo's blonde whore police woman, hundreds more…"

"Get to the damn point."

"My point is, you aren't him. You don't abstain from killing for the same reasons he does. You're just doing this because he told you not to! Because you want to be him so badly! But guess what, dum-dum: your wings will always be made of plucky little disgusting feathers instead of leather!" The Joker screamed. "But ah, you seem intent on proving me wrong. If you wish to satisfy your death wish, you know where to find me. Maybe you can put an end to this before the people get too itchy and the fireworks begin! And when I've got your smiling corpse swinging over City Hall by a rope, maybe he'll finally come back out to play. Until then, ta-ta."

He heard the ticking coming from the TV after it faded out. Growing louder and more rapid. The Batman cursed at the time that had been wasted by this tangent and he then quickly leapt into the water as it exploded, barely avoiding the singing aura of the flames as he fell into the cold water.

* * *

><p>After a tense half-hour, in which the clock grew closer to midnight, he arrived at the AXIS Chemical Processing Plant. It was on the outskirts of the Gotham City, in a desolate area and the centerpiece of the decay. Two of the Joker's men were waiting for him outside, and as soon as they saw him they opened fire with their automatics. The bullets bounced harmlessly off of the Batmobile's exterior and as he saw them empty their clips, he used the eject seat. Both of the clowns could only scream as the dark figure spread its wings above them and swooped down. With both of the clowns posted guard taken care of, Batman looked at the looming, rusting buildings and falling signs above him.<p>

Even after the accident with Red Hood and Batman, work at the plant continued. More accidents happened to the workers, giving them disfigurements similar to the Crown Prince who would soon emerge, and until the Batman and the clean few began to clean up the dirty city the Plant was never closed. Was this it? The very birthplace of the laughing face of death and insanity itself? His eyes diverted towards the outflow pipe. Could someone in a red hood have been ejected from those very pipes long ago with the wastes, somehow miraculously alive and reborn anew? Too many questions, too many answers that would never be given.

The Batman continued to walk past the rotting structures, past the ghosts of the past that he did not see. This was Bruce's work, and he was finishing it. But with a city like Gotham, with its laughing clown and two-faced man and fauna mistress and frozen man, was the work ever finished? For each villain disposed of, ten more would rise. What a year this would be. In the center of the plant, there had been a throne erected from a pile of mannequins. And sitting atop of the throne was the Joker. As Batman approached, more of Joker's men attempted to take him on. He disposed of each of them quickly, and continued to approach the Joker.

"Well, well. You try so hard. Try so hard to move like him. Hit like him. But you just lack that special touch… that little black anger beneath those white eyes… you've got eyes, alright, but whatever's behind them isn't helping…"

"You think I care about what you have to say anymore, Joker?"

"Ah, not really. But I suppose you do have to care about this!" The Joker laughed as he pulled out from his pocket his detonator. "One step closer and I will aarrgh!"

He dropped the detonator as the Batarang embedded itself in his hand. The detonator fell to the ground and rolled away.

"For that, I'll have to kill you." The Joker frowned. "Not like I wasn't planning to do that already…" He reached to his side and he pulled out a cream pie. The Batman dodged to the side as the Joker lobbed the pie at him, and there was the sizzling noise of acid as it worked its reaction on the dusty ground as the pie splattered.

The Joker stood up, and began to walk down his throne. His hands were held behind as back, and he was shaking his head as he descended.

"Blast you! Why couldn't you have stood still and let chemistry works its course? Ah, you made me waste my last of those vintages… from the good 'ol days. Remember those, bird-boy? Back when you wore your feathers loud and proud, cluckity-cluck. First thing I can clearly remember, boy, I was bad. Just angry. So, so cold… but then I realized something! Perhaps I was too angry! That's why you people were only screaming and not laughing… so I remade myself as the Clown Prince of Crime! Elaborate death traps, killer gimmicks, ha… it got so fun for a while I stopped killing people altogether! Sometimes the prank itself, the laughingstock I made of you and the real deal with boners, was enough! But alas… it grew old as well. You people called my act campy! Stupid! Old-fashioned! So I decided that it was time up for jokes and gags. I would become an agent of chaos itself. Hoohoo… my body count shot up faster than it ever had. It was pure fun, ultimate bliss… but only at first." The Joker shook his head. "But all you people ever do is scream. It's no fun if you aren't laughing along… why the hell aren't you laughing?"

"Because you're not funny. You never were." Batman told him.

The Joker screamed and pulled out his crowbar, coming at Batman. "OF COURSE I WAS DAMN FUNNY! YOU JUST DIDN'T GET THE JOKE!"

The Joker swung at Batman multiple times, each of strikes being blocked by Batman's gauntlets. "Why do you think I gave birth to myself so many times? To stay relevant with the times, with the appetites of the people to make sure that they would never get tired of my material! And you will laugh… both of you… die laughing!"

The Joker, with a slight of hand, attempted to stab Batman with his other hand holding a syringe of Joker venom. The Batman dodged, intercepted his arm, and snapped it. The venom fell harmlessly onto the ground. He kicked the Joker away.

"You're overplayed, Joker. Maybe you were funny once, maybe you were something to get scared about, but you performed your act one too many times. Reinvent yourself all you like, clown. We've seen everything capable of. You're nothing more than a one-note, old straggler trying to eke a living off of his past successes. You're a joke that no one will ever find funny again."

"You think you can hurt me? No, all you can do is give me a mild itch. Only he can hurt me, and after I dispose of you… I'll go to bed! I'll be born again for the final time and when he finally comes back I'll wake up all glistening wet and new to this world! And all of you will finally see. And all of you will finally laugh and just laugh and laugh until you can't laugh no more!"

"I'm about to get an A for effort, then, aren't I?" Batman said as he popped out three Batarangs. But the Joker only laughed as he scattered away from him. Batman cursed and he threw the Batarangs, but the Joker ducked, and they flew over him. Batman only could run after his prey.

He chased the Joker into one of the old buildings. The Joker ran up onto the upper platform. And then he and Batman faced each other across the platform, the old waste locks with rotting toxic chemicals still beneath them.

"Remember this, Batman? No, you don't. Of course you don't. You weren't here. And truth be told, maybe I wasn't either! But that doesn't matter. How I got here, how he got here, none of that matters."

"He'll never come back, Joker. You have only me to play with now." The Batman told him. "You'll never get your wish. Better get used to it."

"Oh hohohohohohoho hahaha…" Joker laughed. "Oh, that's just what you think. But who…. who can predict the future? So, until then… it's curtains to this cruel world for me!" The Joker leapt over the railing, towards the chemicals. He laughs as he falls, not stopping even as the Batman shoots forward his hook which wraps around the Joker's leg. There is a crunch as the Joker's fall is forcibly stopped, but he continues to laugh.

"You're not falling in there again." Batman tells the Joker.

But there is no response from the Joker. Only laughter. And when the laughter ceases, the Joker does not speak again.

* * *

><p><em>Early morning, Arkham Asylum<em>

He'd found a way to remotely defuse the bombs after he defeated the Joker by poking around a bit in the AXIS plant, and then he'd dragged him to the car and driven him here. To the Asylum. Or as the Joker put it once, the real world. The Batman watched as the Joker was carted into the padded cell, watching from the safe side of the glass. As the Joker's restraints were carefully removed, the Joker did not move. He simply stood. Watching back without a single bead of sweat, without the single flicker of an eyelash in a blink. He just stood, not even a little laugh. And he watched back.

"Now I'm gonna have trouble sleepin'…" One of the orderlies grumbled as he rolled the empty cart away.

"Is he usually this quiet?" A well-dressed doctor holding a clipboard asked as he walked up to Batman.

"Never." Batman replied. "But if it means a safer Gotham, then I'm fine with him being catatonic forever."

"Such a pity. I was looking forward to interviewing him." The man shook his head, and readjusted his glasses. "Harvey Dent, Jervis Tetch, Victor Fries and so on, I've already interviewed quite a few of the more famous patients in the Asylum. They all have many things to say about you… Batman."

"Who are you?" Batman asked.

"My name is Dr. Jonathan Crane. Head of Psychiatry." Dr. Crane smiled and offered his hand. A bit unnerved, Batman shook it regardless.

"Best watch your back then, Doctor, and don't listen too closely to what they tell you. Bad things have happened to people in your position in the past. Just ask Harley Quinn."

"Ah, yes. I am dutifully aware of the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane's rather livid history in both its original state and this contemporary incarnation. The fears, the superstitions, the insanity… It has always been of some interest to me, fear. What scares you, Batman?" Dr. Crane asked.

"Do I look like one of your patients?" Batman asked in return.

"Just a friendly question, o'brooding dark knight." Dr. Crane chuckled. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon… and I'm sure I'll know a lot more about you, as well."

He walked off, leaving Batman who continued to watch. But the Joker did not move a single sliver of his body in the time he watched. So he left.

* * *

><p><em>Wayne Manor <em>

Dick ate dinner with the Wayne's that night. He still bore noticeable traces of last night's grueling encounter with the Joker and his gang. The Joker and Harley were locked up tight in the Asylum, most of his gang shifted to Blackgate, but there were still a few of the clowns running loose. There was still work to do this night. But with the Joker in the state he was in, perhaps it was the last they'd finally see of this warped jester. Then again, it was the Joker. Who could predict a thing about him, especially with how he'd changed over and over again from day one? He was talking with Bruce about the Joker right now, after the man had sent the rest of his family out of the dining room. He insisted to Dick that they did not have to hear any of what they were about to discuss.

"So that's it?" Bruce asked as he spooned some potatoes into his mouth.

"So it seems." Dick replied. "The Joker stopped moving or saying anything after I disabled his bombs. Seems like he couldn't take it anymore, knowing that you were never coming back as Batman."

"All for the best if he stays like this forever." Bruce said. "But it didn't begin with him, and it won't end with him either."

"You know, the Joker kept going on and on about rebirth. What if he hasn't gone catatonic for good, Bruce? What if he's just sleeping, and when he wakes up, whatever Joker is when that happens is worse than anything we've ever seen before?" Dick asked.

"Then you'll stop him. Just like Batman always has."

"What if I can't?" Dick asked. "I couldn't stop him from killing the Mayor and so many other people this time… and I barely managed to stop him from destroying the entire city."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself, Dick. In some ways, Dick, you've done better than I ever could." Bruce said to his former ward.

"You really think that?"

"What reason would I have to lie to you, Dick?"

Dick thought about the past. There had been schisms. Natural, it came with age as sons became men of their own. But the road to total reconciliation had been slowly paved, and after he had shed the clothes of childhood he had forged a new mantle that he had melded into until the recent tragedy had sent him closer to home than he had ever anticipated. He had an answer to Bruce's question, that he wanted to say, but he didn't say it. It was not the right time. "Maybe you're right. You know, Bruce…"

"What is it?"

"There's something I've wanted to talk to you about… you know, about your daughter…"

"What do you want with Helena... my daughter?" Bruce asked, his voice suddenly suspicious and even intimidating.

"Well…" Then he noticed Bruce's eyes looking towards the window. Outside, although the sky had just darkened, the signal in the skies was already high and bright. The Joker had just been locked away, but as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow morning, Batman was needed again. And he would be so again and again, to the degree that the Boy Wonder and Bludhaven's Finest had never and would never know. Had it been something that he wanted, this constraining feeling of inherited destiny, in the cape and cowl he now found himself in? He did not know. But someone had to help. Gotham City needed heroes. And if his mentor would no longer continue, who else would?

"We'll have to talk about it some other time, Bruce." Dick said. "But when we do... it will be very close to home."

"Go ahead, I won't keep you any longer." Bruce said, taking a seat as Dick rushed out, wondering what Dick had in mind before he was cut off by duty to the mission. He finished his dinner without another word in the empty room, staying silent with his thoughts. Alone he dwells.


	8. The Hunt Begins

Another night, another murder in Gotham City. While the Batman was busy with the Joker, so was the city. This time it has struck in the Narrows, one of the worst neighborhoods in the city where no matter one heads or looks the desolation is sovereign. Prostitutes around every corner, drug deals gone wrong and shot up, unreported bodies in the dumpster, a simple sample from the large pie of decay. And that merely is what goes on out in the streets… But what could one expect from the quarter of Gotham City closest to the Asylum, where perhaps the madness concentrated within its walls has been leaking through the cracks… into the collective beating heart of the city, flowing as life-blood in its veins.

The patrol boys, scant as they are for few cops like to rear their heads in this part of town, have set up the barricade around the mutilated body. But there is little need. While in another part of town, there may have been crowds and hushed whispers, the people in the Narrows merely slip by like fish in a stream. Like air and water, most have come to accept a little death and every now and then in the Narrows as an inevitable facet of life. Exceptions are few, and those who walk that road lose their hopes quickly when it becomes clear that no direction is the way out. The detectives' car slows to a still.

"I don't know why you had me drive to a doughnut shop if all you wanted to pick up was some coffee… and not even the good kind either." James Gordon, Jr. commented to Jim Corrigan as he switched off the car's engine. A bit of red jelly, a few crushed sprinkles, were left unwiped in the corner of his mouth. Light reflected off of his spectacles. He carefully set his unfinished cup of mocha in the cupholder, but his partner was no so considerate. Corrigan merely took one final sip, and then tossed his cup aside onto the ground, with pure-black liquid barely visible in the dark spilling and spreading. He simply seemed not to care.

"Only place I know that's open at this goddamn hour that serves coffee… and even if it is just crap brewed up in a pot, it's still got caffeine. And when you work homicide, you're going to need all the energy you get and in my experience, coffee comes back up way less than doughnuts." Corrigan explained as they walked to the body. Flashlights were shining onto the body, cameras flashing like the corpse was a model strolling down the catwalk. He almost expected the rookie to lose his pastries when the tarp covering the body was removed, but James did nothing of the sort. Well, maybe he wasn't that green, Corrigan thought to himself. Chicago may have prepared James Gordon, Jr. well for what would await him in Gotham after all… but then again, while Chicago ugly was ugly, Gotham ugly was a special breed found nowhere else in the world. If the kid was horrified, he showed none of it in his expression. He even seemed to be interested in the corpse, but perhaps that was just Corrigan reading a little too deep.

"Do you want to take a closer look at the body?" James asked as Corrigan was looking up at the giant symbol glowing in the sky with cold eyes.

"That's what you're here for, kid. So I don't have to anymore." Corrigan said off-handedly as he took out a cigarette and flicked open his lighter. "So who's our post-mortem guest of honor?"

"Local pimp nicknamed Slickback. The trail of blood near the body, or at least what's intact of it, leading into that alleyway over there, and the bits of glass stuck in his remains suggest that someone did their business with him inside his own home before sending him for a little flight… then dragged him away from the sight of impact."

"Pimp, huh? Doesn't seem like the Vice department can ever get rid of any of _their_ problems without making it one of _ours_." Corrigan said as he lit his cigarette, and then took a puff.

"You know, you don't sound like you enjoy doing your job very much."

"You may have grown up here, but you were made a cop in Chicago. Chicago may not be all sunshine and rainbows, but compared to Gotham, it's goddamn Candyland." Corrigan said, unfeeling, as he continued to look up at the light in the skies. "I used to be like you, kid, can you actually believe that? Lasted all the way from the damn academy through my uniform days, even lasted for a few years after I got my desk in Homicide."

"So what happened then?"

"Cliffnotes edition, just take a look around you. Things may not be so bad for the one-percent, with their out-of-city-limits mansions or skyline penthouses, but there's a reason why Gotham's consistently ranking in the list of worst cities to live in. When I started out, the mob used to run this city. In those days, honest cops were a rarer commodity than diamonds. Ask him and Gordon will tell you about the time Loeb had him jumped, and a lot more. I took a few beatings myself for trying to stand up for what I thought was right. Almost went over to their side… but then the Batman showed up and almost singlehandedly it seemed he was cleaning it up. To some of us, it was like the second coming of Christ. You wouldn't know it from me now, but I was a supporter of the whole superhero biz. The Trinity, that was what the media dubbed the first superheroes of our world. Metropolis got Superman, some old rat-hole with fancy pants architecture in Europe got Wonder Woman, and Gotham City was left with Batman. Here they were, people with great power. The power to do things that us normal people couldn't, and they were using it to fight for us! We all thought they would lead us to greater and better things. Better things than any old politician lying through his teeth on the TV throwing soldiers and the budget into overseas charnel houses could've ever given us. But then I had to stop and think about what was actually changing. Not much... Gotham City just traded the gangsters for psychopaths. No matter how much money people like Bruce Wayne can toss around, no matter how many vigilantes in tights we have running on the rooftops at night, not enough has changed to make this a job or a city worth smiling about."

"Why do you still have that badge on you, then?"

"As much as I want to turn it in, as much as I know how little of a difference we make in the end, this is a lousy job and somebody has to do it. Might as well be someone who knows how to do it."

* * *

><p>"Commissioner."<p>

Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop of the GCPD building, with the Batsignal lit up as usual. He hadn't heard the Batman come up or land, but the suddenness of his voice was no longer surprising after all these years. In his hand, he held an envelope.

"What's up?"

Commissioner Gordon opened the envelope. He took out the contents, and he handed it to Batman.

"Someone sent me mail?" Batman asked.

"If you can call it that." Commissioner Gordon scratched his head. "Funniest thing, the envelope was delivered by a hunting falcon. Damn near gave me a heart attack when it flew in through my window, dropped the envelope, and then flew to who knows where."

Batman looked at the letter. There was no text. Just a large and crude drawing of his head plastered on the entirety of the paper, with a big red bullseye drawn with Sharpie on his forehead.

"What is this?" Batman asked as he scanned the paper to search for forensic evidence such as fingerprints. No such luck. Whoever had made this had been careful enough to wipe off any trails of bread-crumbs.

"I was hoping that you could tell me that. Anyone you upset badly enough to want you dead recently, Batman? Other than the Joker, of course."

"You heard of someone named Helena Bertinelli?"

Gordon shook his head at the sound of her name and sighed. "How could I not have? Can't forget the name of the Mob Queen who came back one day from Italy to revive the old family business in Gotham City. In her case, I wish the apple had fallen far, far, from the tree."

"Ah yes… I may have upset her badly enough to convince her that hiring a few assassins was the reasonable course of action." Batman confessed to Gordon, who took off his glasses as he wiped his brow.

"Oh good. Just what I needed at a time like this… haven't even got the chance to talk with James yet." He muttered under his breath, but not low enough for Batman to not heart. Then spoke up again. "Any familiar names? I could perhaps get a few squads of men mobilized..."

"As much as I'd like the help, I don't want to needlessly endanger the lives of your men. Some of the seven names that my help has dug up by tracing the illicit transfers of Bertinelli mob money… I've clashed with them before. And they aren't just professionals. They're masters. Dangerous ones. There's no telling what they'll do to get to me." Batman said as he looked around him and Gordon. Perhaps there were even a few of the assassins watching them right now.

"Well, if they start to endanger the lives of the populace, I can't just let you run about and do your thing, Batman."

"I know. But that's why I have to get to them. Stop them before they can hurt anybody but me."

"Be careful, then." Gordon said as he walked over to the Bat-signal and switched it off.

"I will. Besides, it's not like it's the first time anybody in this city has tried to take out either you or me. I suppose that this letter of mine is a start to finding the first of the assassins." Batman said. "Commissioner, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Commissioner Gordon said with a sigh as he sat down near the inactive Bat-signal. He didn't mention the return of his son to the city. "I'm just not used to seeing you still here after we're done talking."

"Sorry." The Batman said. Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Finishing the last of the paperwork for the night, James Jr. momentarily popped his head up and looked out the window. He thought he saw some dark figure gliding from rooftop to rooftop. But as quickly as he had seen it, it was gone. His partner was standing by the windows, with an unfinished box of Chinese take-out held disinterestedly.<p>

"You saw him, too?" James asked as he joined Corrigan.

"Wish I hadn't. But sometimes, I find myself looking out this window every night regardless." Corrigan lifted his hands to bring the box up and with a pair of chopsticks plucked out a red-sauced piece of chicken. "Maybe I envy him, although that is a chilling thought. But who wouldn't want to be the Batman? Underneath that suit, in spite of all the urban legends, he's just a man. But a man with much more power than either of us. Any of us. He can do so much more… after all, who was it that took down the old mob bosses in the end? He's not held back by all the red tape surrounding any Gotham cop who still cares about doing the decent thing."

"If he did that, we'd all be flipping patties or frying fries at the Golden Arches."

Corrigan growled slightly before setting down his take-out box and lighting a cigarette for himself. "That's just the point. He could've done a whole lot more. But all the Batman does is take out the big name of the week, and leaves the actual damn roots that have poisoned this city unchecked. There still are corrupt cops in all the departments. My last partner, Jessica… someone I thought that I could trust although I should've known better, even she was dirty. Supplied crime scene evidence and even memorabilia from the Arkham crowd to a black market auction house called as the Black Mirror, before the Batman busted it right before all that Hush business went down. For all he cleans up, he doesn't do a thorough enough job. And that's when I wish… against my better nature that I had the power he had. That I could do what he did, grand those like the Joker punishment that he never will."

"But still…"

"Still what, rookie? Look at the Batman. His car, his gadgets, every single little fancy karate move knows, something had to pay for all of it. Can't be any old beat cop or fed-up postal worker wearing that cape. He's rich, bound to be. And when I think about that, I start thinking about how much more he could've done with that money for the city rather than using it to fund his one-man and who-knows-how-many-boys war on crime."

"I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like superheroes very much anymore, Jim." James said, attempting to be good-natured.

"Don't call me Jim just yet, rookie. But I will tell you something quick. It's a story from my early days, back when I still wore the blue. Every beat cop has his, the case that gets him started on climbing the ladder. For me, it was a crook who had violated his parole. He was extorting potheads at first, and then he moved onto robbing banks after he got cocky. Won't tell you all the details, other than it did involve a trip to Bludhaven and from there a taco joint as well as a secret recording, but know that it was me who connected the dots and brought him in."

"For something that big, you don't seem proud."

"When I finished the paperwork, guess who came to Gotham? The freaking FBI." Jim revealed. "It turns out that after robbing his banks, our crook had made himself a bit of a name. Big enough for his arrest to be televised. I got so damn excited, given the naïve patrol boy I was. Even phoned up my parents to tell them that I was going to be on the TV… and that's when the FBI agents pushed me out of camera view and started reading off of my report like it was theirs. Guess who got all the damn credit?"

"What's the big moral?" James asked him.

"You that dense, rookie?" Jim Corrigan sighed. "Sometimes, I look at superheroes on the TV and I see those FBI agents. Pushing us normal folks out of the way and flaunting themselves on TV where we would've been…"

* * *

><p>Dick looked at the list of names on the Batcomputer screen. They were the seven names that Oracle had found when she took a peek at the transactions Bertinelli didn't want people to see. He sighed and he went back up to the penthouse in the elevator.<p>

"Something the matter, Master Richard?" Alfred asked with some concern as the doors opened. He had prepared a lovely bowl of cookies and cream ice cream, but Dick didn't even notice the ice cream. He just walked past, outside into the large patio of his penthouse. "Other than the looming specter of Mr. Slade Wilson possibly popping up from behind you, readying a sword with your name on it, I suppose."

"I've looked over each of the villains after me. Reviewed every bit of their background, memorized their methods, and pored over Bruce's contingency files. I should be ready for anything coming my way. But tonight, at the GCPD, someone dropped off… no, flew in, a message for me. With a hunting falcon, no less." Dick said as he handed Alfred the drawing who took a look and handed it back.

"Hunting falcon, sir? Can't say I've heard much about their usage in an urban jungle like this, let alone most of America."

"This… whatever this is… it doesn't match any of them. I just can't see Slade or Firefly or anyone else on that list suddenly deciding to train a hunting falcon to send Batman their hate-mail." Dick said.

"Training a bird to do something like that isn't an easy or a quick feat, Master Richard." Alfred said. "I had known a few people like that back in the day. Big game hunters. Quite an obsessive lot, and I'd even suspect a few of them, had most of them not passed away or entered the nursing home years ago."

"Someone… someone is hunting me… someone independent of Bertinelli's big bounty…" At that moment, Dick had held the paper in his hands sideways. He hadn't heard the shot, but he saw it pierce through the flimsy paper, exactly on the bullseye-mark. Before his mouth could open up in shock, he saw the bullet make its mark on the stone flooring of the patio.

"Down, Master Richard!" Alfred said as he reacted with the instincts learned as a younger man, in a different time, quickly forcing Dick down behind cover.

"Nice save, Alfie." Dick managed to mutter as they tensely waited for the follow-up shot that never came.

Within minutes of when he decided it was safe to poke his head back, Dick had gone into the suit. He scanned the point of impact to gauge just what caliber the bullet was, and judging by the angle at which the bullet had hit the flooring and the wind levels at the few buildings in Gotham high enough to have made the shot at the Wayne Foundation where Dick had stood, he found a plausible spot for the shooter as he looked up.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Alfred asked, extremely concerned. "Surely you are not taking up this mad gambit?"

"Alfie, I'm being hunted. Not just by the hired men of our mob princess, but by someone of his own volition. Someone skilled enough to have hit the bullseye exactly where he drew it, someone who knows enough about hunting to train a falcon to navigate an urban jungle. And out there, in this city, he's hiding. Waiting for the next chance to get at me. But not for long. I'm going to make our little huntsman the hunted man." Batman said to Alfred as he leapt over the side of the penthouse and with a great whoosh of wind heard, he extended his cape to glide away into the fading night.

"Careful, Master Richard… be careful." Alfred said with his head downcast, although he knew that by now, Dick would be too far away to hear. But still, never did hurt to wish a bit of luck or advice. Something he had done since the start of Master Bruce's crusade. Alfred only wished that he would live long enough to see it ended, and all of his beloved sons and daughters granted the happy ending.

Master Bruce, perhaps, had gotten his, on the day he married Selina Kyle. But his dual life had denied him of that, when it cost him the life of his son and the destruction of his iron-sworn vows. Dick, who now carried on Bruce's work, who knew? And poor Jason… the black sheep in many ways, but he had been a son nonetheless to Alfred. And as Dick had told him, Bruce's daughter – young Helena whose newborn innocence had been so clearly felt on the day she was born as the overjoyed Bruce had allowed Alfred to hold her, had finally gotten it in her head to begin the cycle of vigilantism anew. He worried for her as well. He had spent enough nights with the Batman and his family long enough to know what this life did to them. Children knew so much, and yet they knew so little…

The dream Alfred had seemed less possible with each passing day.

He sighed as fantasies of what could've been, what he wished had been, played out in his mind as he walked back inside. He put some wrap over the bowl of ice cream, and put it back in the freezer, saving it for when Master Richard would hopefully return.


	9. A Trip to the Museum

_A construction site in Gotham City, future spot of the High Sky and Bright Lights Hotel. _

The Batman stood across the wide chasm from the massive skyline construction project. Already, he could see the long line of zeroes that had been poured into this future luxury hotel and resort. He tried not to think about all the things that the money could've been put into, instead of tourist bait and glitzy city attractions. His search for a sniper who had taken a shot at him and Alfred earlier this night had led him here.

He looked up and down the giant sprawling project, examining it with state-of-the-art infrared lens that were installed into his helmet. The construction area seemed to be vacant. Of course it was, after all. Only until morning would the lot be crawling with workers and the humming of machinery with iron sparks flying through the air. But even at this nether hour, there had to be some security. Works of this magnitude tend to attract enterprising young vandals, after all.

The Batman shot his line out and swung from the building he was standing on towards the construction site. As he glanced down, beyond the almost blinding glares of street lights and rushing cars, hidden in the shadows behind the fences, his eyes spied what might have been corpses. No doubt they were the security if so. The sniper had to eliminate them to get to the top.

In the future, where he stood and cautiously tread his ground through the unlit and the unfinished, there would be five-star chefs cutting steaks in the kitchen. Swimming pool filled with splashing, screaming children while their parents apathetically faded away after downing their latest antidepressant with a cocktail fresh from the bar. Bellhop taking luggage from the trunk of the limousine, who would look up and see the high rise he'd never stand upon. Perhaps an overdose or two in the top floor suite amongst the other ugliness thrown out to dry behind the pretty paint. This Batman did not think of these. The dark things that happened every day in this city, in this world, had not gotten to him. Never would they. To him, the construction site was nothing but a bunch of girders and beams.

There was nothing but the sound of the cry of the wind as it cruelly galloped through both the narrowest of cracks and the widest of entrances. He shot a line up, ascending levels slowly. Yes, he could have taken the elevator. But there would be noise. And if the shooter was still present, he would be alerted.

With a silent heave, he propelled himself onto the top of the construction. There was no shooter. He had already made his leave. Leaving behind nothing but bricks and mortar. The neck and dangling hook of a crane. Discarded papers and candy wrappers that blew away with the heavy breeze. But the shooter had left behind something. Deliberately. The rifle he had used to fire at the penthouse of the Wayne Foundation Building. An empty casing, rolled against the construction. And a note. Typed in Size 12 Comic Sans font.

That was all there was tonight, at the place where Batman searched.

* * *

><p><em>Wayne Manor<em>

Helena Wayne sighed as she sat on a piano bench, in front of the priceless antique that was the showpiece of the manor's main study. Aside from the piano, there was a dusted grandfather clock that echoed dull ticks pressed against the wall and shelves upon shelves of books who reflected the cackling flames of the fireplace in the dim light. What was taking her mom so long? Dad, although she knew he was out working late at the WayneCorp building again, had a tendency to pop out at any moment when his presence was least expected. Her nerves were on absolute edge. Trying to calm herself, and pass the time, the youth laid her fingers upon the white keys and began to play a rendition of Chopin.

"Bravo, kitten." Her mother's approving voice and a series of sly claps. Helena looked up and smiled at her mother.

"What d'you think, Mom?"

"You know, Helena, it's not too late. Like me, you're quite good with your hands. You can quit the superhero game before you even start playing and become something that definitely will pay."

"C'mon, Mom. You know me. Why would I want to play piano for a living?" Helena said. "I don't really like it when everyone's looking at me."

"Point taken." Selina sighed agreeably. Helena Wayne had always been an introverted child beyond the confines of her family. Not one to openly seek out friendships or one that attracted lots, in spite of her sociable family name. An unopened chest of many secrets at times. Many times she would just watching and observing, as chatter was all around her, but never joining in. But she was metamorphosing from this quiet cocoon… hopefully. When Bruce had taken the Waynes to spend the summer with his friend in Metropolis last summer, Helena actually seemed to have hit it up with his girl pretty well. Blonde, bombastic and inquisitive kid by the name of Kara or Karen or something along those lines. Almost a complete opposite to Helena. Ah, mysteries… just like the old days, in a way.

"Are we going to do it now, Mom?" Helena asked. "I really want to see where you and Dad used to work..."

"Kitten, just for you, I've got all the time in the world." Selina smiled as she got to work on reopening the door to the Batcave as she walked past her daughter to the ticking grandfather clock and began to adjust the hands.

"10:47. Let's see if this still works."

And the grandfather clock, powered by a mechanism, slid to the side. Revealed was a dark, winding stairway that slowly winded downwards. And far off, there was the sound of screeching. The sound of bats in the dark.

* * *

><p><em>The Wayne Foundation Building – the secret basement<em>

"So, who was the marksman that decided to use us as target practice this time?" Alfred asked as he watched Dick work away at a workbench. He had disassembled the sniper rifle he had taken from the gunman's perch, and was looking over every intricacy of all the evidence he had taken.

"He was gone by the time I got there. He left this. Not our average crazed gunman with an agenda, it seems." Dick said as he handed Alfred the note he found at the scene.

"Hmm…" Alfred looked over the note. "To Batman – if you have arrived at this scene, likely you are disappointed by the lack of my presence. But from one hunter to another, surely you would have known that a master huntsman never sits still and waits for his prey to come get him. And no doubt you certainly shall be worried about my knowledge of your identity. Do not bother asking as how I ascertained your identity as Richard Grayson. Just know that to hunt, the hunter must get to know his prey, and you Batman, are my prey. But I am with honor, and I shall not take any more shots at you while you are at your fortress. And I shall not divulge my secrets to the competition who were hired to slay you by the Mob Princess. This is not a matter of money, for she refused my talented services. No, this is a matter of a huntsman's honor to the hunt. So watch your back. Eye the shadows. For the first second of lapsed caution shall be the last. Sincerely, Carleton Yager the Second"

"Alright, that was melodramatic." Dick shook his head as he looked over the serial number. "But anyways, Alfie, does that name ring a bell?"

"Carleton Yager, sir? Let me comb the archives of memory." Alfred said as he took a step back and thought to himself, then snapped his fingers. "Ah yes, I do recall the name!"

"Good, Alfie. So, what do I need to know about this guy before I go after him before he does anything really stupid?" Dick asked.

"Oh, I haven't quite heard of a Carleton Yager the Second." Alfred confessed with some disappointment and confusion. "But I do know about Carleton Yager. Famous big game hunter, from before your time, Master Richard, and long before people started frowning upon his sort of business!"

"Just how long ago is this?" Dick asked with some curiosity as he walked to the Batcomputer and brought up Bruce's custom built search engine and database that would put Google to jealousy and began typing.

"Well, for reference, he was already hunting tigers in the mangroves of the British Raj at the age of twenty by the dawn of the 20th century."

"Huh. At that age, I was in college working for my BA." Dick commented.

"Mustn't forget the spandex and vigilante antics, Master Grayson. Have these nightly excursions finally taken their toll upon your temporal lobe?" Alfred said sarcastically as he glanced at the results that were coming up on the screen.

"Ah, yes. Where would we be without you, Alfie?" Dick joked as he went along with Alfred's jab. Then, he looked at the screen. "Wow… look at his hunting records, war records, etc. Is there anything that this guy hasn't killed?"

"Alas, he was sadly too early to witness the age of periodic alien invasions and undead risings that Bruce and company seemed to usher in."

"Too early to witness even the debut of the first publically known superhero." Dick said, referring to a certain man of steel. "Says here he died in 1961 at the age of 81. Ironically the year the WWF was founded."

"Yes, life is full of these little ironies." Alfred said. "I've read a bit about him. Authored several books about his hunts and wildlife. Saw a documentary about him on PBS once. But I do not recall him having a son by the name of Carleton Yager the Second."

"I suppose this means I just can't go and search him up on Facebook then." Dick sighed.

"Perhaps this individual has found an idol in the form of Carleton Yager and has chosen to emulate him."

"Well then, it's not a 1-1 match because I'm sure as hell Carl Fancy Name back then didn't specialize in a Tac-50. Regardless, I got the serial number which means that there's probably some breadcrumbs we could follow." Dick said as he pointed back to the parts of the rifle at his workbench. "Probably won't get any luck tracing the local gun shops in Gotham, but Barbara definitely could dig in where even we can't."

"Sir, if it may also help, Carleton Yager visited Gotham City numerous times."

"Who hasn't at this point?"

"Ahem, Master Grayson. He frequented the Safari Club. Spot where gentlemen like him from around the world met up to discuss their greatest hunts and whatnot."

"Never heard of it."

"Shut down long before Master Bruce even put on his first cape." Alfred said, his voice almost nostalgic. "The club itself was turned into Gotham City's first Starbucks afterwards. Pfft, Starbucks. What do they know about brewing coffee? But… um, regardless of my tangent there, they did move out Yager's trophies and whatnot. I believe that they're residing at the Natural History Museum. I took young Helena and Bruce Jr. there for his seventh birthday. Amongst the exhibits were Yager's mounted heads."

"I don't know if some dead hunter's stuffed animals are going to lead me to my stalker, but I might as well check it out." Dick said as he got up.

"Right now? Sir, but it is long past closing hours!" Alfred exclaimed.

"Right on, Alfie!" Dick flashed Alfred a thumbs-up with a wink as he suited up. "That way, I don't have to pay for admission."

"No wonder why the economy is in the doldrums…" Alfred sighed as he watched Dick enter the Batmobile and with the loud humming of the engine coming to life ride off on a trip to the museum.

* * *

><p><em>The Batcave<em>

"First time down here, Helena?" Selina asked as they reached the bottom of the steps, as the lights in the Batcave lit up for the first time in months. There was the loud flutter of batwings scurrying away to the sparse shadows, and instinctively, she put a hand upon her daughter's shoulder in case the sound frightened her. But she noted no sign in her child's face.

Helena shook her head. "No, I caught Dad leaving it when I was supposed to be in bed once… that's how I found out who you two really were. But tonight's the first time I've actually been in here. Did he really call it the Batcave?"

"Beats me. I never asked." Selina shrugged. "Alfred did, of course, but he was being sarcastic."

She smiled as she noted the twinkle of wonder in her daughter's eyes as the child looked around the Batcave. Selina tagged along her daughter as they walked around, undoing all the tarps that Bruce had so meticulously put in place the last time he was down here.

"So this is where it all happened? This is where Daddy worked when he was Batman?"

"Yep. The heart of his operations was right here. Whenever your dad would throw one of his fancy ball parties in the early days, not a single person ever suspected that they were standing right above the Batman's command center."

"How did you find out? I mean, it's not like he would just tell you he was Batman. Cause… you know, you were still kind of a criminal." Helena asked curiously as she ran her hands along the sleek black metallic surface of the Batmobile, an older variation of her father's costume looming in a bulletproof glass case in the background.

"You know, I wish I could tell you that there was a whole complex investigation I launched that would put Holmes to envy. But really, all it took for me to find out was realizing that Bruce Wayne kissed exactly like Batman did." Selina said with her cheeks slightly red as she looked back upon the memory of that night with both reminiscence and embarrassment.

"Does that work?" Helena asked, motioning to the satellite-bound teleporter as they passed it.

"Not anymore. Your dad cut the link after he retired. And back when it did, they never let me in. Even after I reformed and married, they still wouldn't. Anyways, it probably won't be used as anything in the future other than a little memory of what was. Sorry if you were hoping to get someone's autograph." Selina shrugged apologetically as they walked past.

"Why would I want anybody's autograph when I've already got you and Dad as my 'rents?" Helena looked up admiringly at her mother.

"Isn't that sweet of you, kitten." Selina smiled back at her daughter like a proud lioness and whipped the tarp off of a long display case. "Now here's something I think you'd like to see."

Various costumes were on display. The makeshift blue and yellow get-up of the original Batgirl, Dick Grayson's Robin outfit, Bruce's very first Batsuit, and even Selina's old black leather skin-suit, complete with the claws and whip.

"Is that yours, Mom?" Helena asked with prying curiosity as she put her hands on the glass that separated her from the attire of days past.

"Well, one of mines, anyway." Selina said with a wink. There was an urge she felt to take her stuff out of the display, just to see it they still fit or if she still could crack it like she could ten years ago. But she resisted the urge to unlock the display cases in Batman's trophy room this night. "Must've been your father's favorite if he kept it up on display instead of in storage."

"Mom, on the way here…"

"What is it?"

"I saw another display case like this earlier. Near the entrance. Mom, it, um… had a Robin suit in it as well. Kinda like Uncle Dick's here, but really different as well. It looked like had been ripped apart and stitched back together…"

Selina held her hands together, glanced briefly at the memorial to Todd before glancing back without another look taken at it. Remembered the kid full well. He had been the opposite of Richard Grayson. Jason Todd had been the rebel. Flirtatious, brash, out-spoken. More willing to hit hard. "Well, he was the Robin after your Uncle Richard became Nightwing."

"Why does he have his own special case?" Helena asked, curious.

"That's a story for another day." Selina sighed without giving away too much of the depressing details. At her age, her daughter didn't need to know the bleak story of the second Robin.

"Mom, can I ask you something?" Helena said as they walked back to where they had come in.

"Go ahead. If you want to be like me and your father when you grow up, you're going to need to know everything." Selina smiled, awaiting her child's inquiry.

"Do you ever miss it? You know, do you ever wish that you hadn't given up being Catwoman after you had me and my brother?"

"Hmm…" Selina stopped by the Batmobile, sitting upon the black hood to catch a breath. She sat with her knees high up, her chest pressed against them, looking down at her daughter. With an arm, she brushed her fingers through rich strands of midnight black hair, darker than raven feathers.

"Well, Mom? Don't want Daddy finding us down here like this." Helena hid her impatience for an answer with a small smile.

"I'll be honest. Of course I miss being Catwoman. You can't tame a tigress, after all." Selina admitted as she stretched her legs out with a sigh and reclined. "It wasn't a perfect life I led back then. There was plenty of bad stuff. I won't lie to you, Helena, and say that I was always on your father's side. At the beginning, I was a bad girl. A selfish, manipulative thief. Aside from myself, Holly was the only person that I did care about. But things changed. But my mistakes always found a way of catching up to me. And along the way, I would meet plenty of bad people."

"Like who? The Joker?"

"Yeah, he was one of them. You already know about my 'friendship' with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. Then there was the Riddler, who had this creepy crush on me." Selina shivered at the memory while her daughter stuck her tongue out. "Two-Face hated me because I couldn't resist trying to take poor Gilda Dent's engagement ring. And Black Mask… whenever I think of him, I'm happy that he's goddamn rotting in hell."

"Swear jar, Mom." Helena chimed in.

"Ah… here you go." Selina wiggled around in her pants pocket for a second and flicked a quarter into her daughter's hands. "Pity, in another time, it could've been a diamond…"

Pocketing the quarter, Helena smiled looking away from her mother and patiently awaited the resumption.

"As I was saying, there's plenty of bad stuff that's happened to me, and bad stuff that I've done to people. There are things I've done that I shall regret forever, but then again, there's even more stuff that I'll never regret doing. And one of those was the day that I first put on a mask and learned how to crack a whip. And of course, if I hadn't gone down this path in life, I would've never met your father. Oh, the games we played at night across the rooftops. Sometimes he caught me, sometimes I got away and left him shaking in frustration. There's no real word I can use to describe the thrill that I experienced when he chased me…"

"What about Robin?" Helena piped in again.

"Now that was just embarrassing. For both of us. And that's all I want to say about it." Selina replied nonchalantly. "But you know, I miss those nights badly. When I lay next to your father in bed at night, I can't help but think how in spite of how fortunate my life has turned out… married to a good man with the best children in all of existence, I still wish that I could suit up and just have some good 'ol-fashioned Catwoman fun. But I guess we all have to stop running sometime. Even me. After all, a new generation of costumed do-gooders is going to step up one day. And who better to be a part of it than you, kitten?"

She winked playfully at her daughter, and then with rhythmic, wheel-like motion, slid off of the hood of the Batmobile.

* * *

><p><em>The Gotham Museum of Natural History<em>

Manny Rodriguez is not exactly one who enjoys his job as the night watch at the Gotham Museum of Natural Security. But as someone who grew up in the inner city, sometimes you gotta take what you can get. Job is a job, and a job means money. Even if that job means scooting around skeletons and models and what else at night in the dark with just a flashlight while your partner dozes off in the camera room, for pay that would make even the minimum wage burger flippers laugh.

Conventional crime doesn't happen often at the museum. You know, robberies or "Joker's killing everybody again!" kinda crime. After all, who but the craziest of kooks is gonna want to steal some dusty old skeletons or foam dinosaur eggs from the souvenir shop? No, the museum attracts the weird stuff. Like the time one of Professor Langstrom's experiments went wrong and he winded up turning himself into a giant bat. That sort of weird.

The Museum, of course, is nothing like a movie at night. Nothing comes to life to chase you around. But Manny sometimes wishes that they did. At least he would know what to expect. But amongst the shadows in the darkness, everything seems possible. He's always on edge, hearing things that aren't there, imagining what isn't. And tonight is going to be one of those nights.

"B-Batman? I-is that you?" Manny asked as he shined a flashlight at the Carleton Yager exhibit. It doesn't seem real. He doesn't seem real. But he is. The dark knight is standing right in front of him. Looking up at the mounted heads. Manny hated those mounted heads, the way light would reflect off of 'em at night. The way they seemed to follow you around, the feeling of eyes upon your back when you weren't looking at 'em.

"Yeah. Didn't want to pay the admission fee."

"Y-y-you could've just knocked. We'd have let you in! You're the Batman! You're the reason why any of us still live in the city or can sleep well at night!" Manny said, gratitude to the city's shadowy guardian quite apparent, as he took a glance at the heads. Grizzly bear, African elephant, water buffalo, Bengal tiger, leopard seal, and so on - an international menagerie of the slain beasties… but breaking the flow is an empty plaque at the end with no mounted head.

"Well, if I ever need to stop by here again, I'll know." The Batman replied.

"What… what are you doing here? Something's gonna happen, ain't it?"

"No, nothing is going to happen at the museum. Not that I know of. But I was hoping that this exhibit would help me with an investigation of mine. But all I see is every animal rights activist's Taco Tuesday nightmare. You know anything about the headless mount?"

"Well, Batman… the story about the headless mount is that Carleton Yager kept one up at the Safari Club before it met a wrecking ball, reserved for what he referred to as the world's deadliest game. Of course, none of his fellow hunters ever figured out what it was." Manny recited, trying to remember what he knew about it. Couldn't let a superhero, especially a Justice Leaguer, like Batman down. This was definitely going to be a night he'd remember for the family when he got home. "I mean, this guy, from what I know, successfully bagged pretty much everything. What was left back then?"

"Hmm… so know about anything suspicious happening here?"

"Aside from who keeps taking an extra doughnut from the box in the break room?" Manny shrugged, then tried to think. Then something came to him, like a lightbulb lighting up. "Oh yeah!"

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Well, I was looking over the security cams the other night. During the day, there's always this one guy who'd hang around this exhibit and just look up at the heads. Sometimes he'd be taking notes or talking into a recorder or something. He was pretty tall and blonde, well-dressed like a dude from the business district, and all he'd ever do is hang around here after paying his admission fee."

"Mind if I take a look at those tapes?"

"Sure, go ahead. Just try not to wake up my partner. He might die of a heart-attack if he saw you walking around."

"Thanks for the help. Sorry if I scared you." The Batman walked away. He touched a button on his helmet as he did, and was speaking to somebody he called Oracle. Something about tapping into the Network and scanning the cameras for somebody that fit the description Manny had given Batman. That was all Manny heard before he shrugged and walked off, unable to stop shaking.

In an unconnected event to tonight, a few weeks later, Manny received an envelope. The Wayne Foundation building needed a watchman. A job like this one, but unlike this one, pay that would put his kid through college.

Manny would wonder what he did to deserve such a sudden drop of manna.

* * *

><p>"How went your nightly visit?" Alfred asked as Dick, still in the Batsuit, plopped himself on his bed and looked up at the ceiling.<p>

"Found myself a potential suspect as to the identity of Carleton Yager the Second. A businessman by the name of Vaughn North. Barbara and I spent a bit of time digging while catching up on things. Camera tapes, store transactions, library check-outs, you know. Turns out that he also spends a lot of his time hanging out at the zoo. Observing the animals. The type Carleton would hunt. He also borrowed a ton of books, videos, etc. about hunting and so on. His money trail has been stretching back for a couple of years now. Maybe he's had his eye on me for a while… or rather, Batman."

"What will you do, Master Richard?"

"I would've tailed him from the zoo to his home, but you know, Barbara convinced me it was too risky to go near him in broad daylight if he knows that I am Batman. She traced him to his residence. A high-rise not too far from the construction site where he took his shot at me. So I guess it's time to pay him a house-call." Dick replied as he reached for his helmet. Rest easy not, criminals of the night. The Batman was doing extra hours tonight.

* * *

><p><em>Wayne Manor<em>

"You're looking out the window again, Bruce." Selina giggled, cherry-painted lips curling, as she snuggled against him under the warm sheets, sinking into the comfortable mattress.

"I'm just wondering what he's doing. Ever since he stopped the Joker…"

"Oh, Bruce, you don't need to worry about him." Selina stroked her fingers across his cheeks. His arms tightened around her, allowing her a small kiss. "He's a big boy now. No need to call him every night to ask if he's been brushing his teeth and getting in bed at eleven anymore. You need to have a bit of faith in the first son. If you're this protective of him when he's not even a teen anymore, I do fear for Helena's first boyfriend."

"You're right. I shouldn't. He's not my son or student or sidekick anymore. Ever since Nightwing he's been my equal and in ways my superior. But the hardest part is letting go." Bruce admitted as he held his hands behind his head as it rested against the fluffy ornate pillow, rolling onto his back and looking up at the canopy of their poster-bed. Selina, resting against him, felt so nice. In spite of everything, he had so many reasons to be cheerful. All his life, he had. If only he could forget the reasons he had not to be. His heart clenched. He rolled his head to meet her eyes, and he knew that he was frowning. "But I just can't."

"Come on, you have to, darling. I've known you for so long. You can't let this grief take over you forever." Selina asked as she sat upright and looked down at him.

"I don't know. But after our son's passing, I've spent a lot of time thinking. We enjoy so much of our lives that we never really realize how precious and short it can be until it happens to us or someone we care about. And in the end, despite the masks we wear and the powers we have, we're not Gods."

"We all miss him as much as you do. But it isn't your fault that our son died, Bruce. I still cry when I'm alone and I think about him or remember a purr-fect day I spent with Bruce Jr. But sometimes, you just got to learn to let someone be buried for good and know that one day, you'll see them again. But until then, just try to smile and think about what we do have. Alfred. Dick. My friends, your friends, our friends. Our daughter. Helena. I've noticed that you two have become icier ever since the funeral, speaking less to each other, and it... it worries me."

"Yeah. It worries me too." Bruce managed to smile as he thought of his daughter. But Selina was wrong, no matter how much he loved her and she loved him back. How could she understand? She'd never felt the responsibilities he had as Gotham's protector, she hadn't walked the same road he had. He had been Batman when both Bruce Wayne Jr. and Jason Todd had met their ends at the hands of darkness forged by his world. He had been Batman when Barbara Gordon lost her ability to walk. He always felt, knew that there could've been something he could've done to save all of them. Even stop the two bullets and the falling pearls on a cold, bitter night long ago. And for that, it seemed that he could never forgive himself. Or move on fully. Why else did he fight his endless war on crime for what would seem like an endless night until the day he broke his vows? That action also bore heavily upon him. To have finally given into vengeful desire and violate one of his steel-forged principles. He thought of his daughter, and swore silently that he would protect her even if he no longer wore the mask. Protect her from the dangers of the life that had taken her brothers and her father as well. "We probably shouldn't talk about this anymore. For a while."

"That would be a good idea." Selina sighed as she plopped down next to him, trying to think happy thoughts.

* * *

><p><em>Room 25B, Aparo Towers<em>

"So you've come. Thinking you could catch me unaware in my sleep." Vaughn North, adorned in a business suit, said as he sat at the foot of his bed, smoking a pipe. A Heckler and Koch pistol with a suppressor attached was in his lap. "But you see, a hunter does not sleep lightly when he knows he is being stalked by his prey."

"Cut the exposition." Batman said as he looked around him on the balcony, and towards the screen door that led into Vaughn's apartment. Several tripwires. Rigged weapons, explosives. The man had converted his entire apartment into a trap for Batman. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Vaughn?"

"It's Carleton Yager the Second. Vaughn ain't home anymore. Or as I like to call myself, the Stalker." Vaughn said coldly. "You see, I've got you at a bit of an impasse. You can't exactly rush me, or we'll both go boom. And if you tread carefully… I'll just open fire. These bullets I've got loaded are armor-piercing. I've researched you carefully since you resurfaced, Batman. You shouldn't have sacrificed protection for mobility. My bullets will go through you like crap through a pigeon. Either way, you will have been hunted."

Batman remained silent.

"You see, ever since Superman came flying onto the scene and soon afterwards you, Batman and Wonder Woman and Green Lantern and all the rest, I realized just what ultimate game Carleton Yager was referring to. The superheroes. And what better way to begin my hunt than with you, Batman? The ultimate hunter! I jumped at the opportunity when I heard that Mob Princess Bertinelli was hiring people to take your head, but she laughed me down! Said I had no promising credentials. But no doubt that she'll come begging to me after tonight. And then she'll be the first stepping stone to bigger fish. And soon all will fear the name of the Stalker."

"Do you think this is some sick game? Emulating your little hero?"

"Emulating? A game? Of course not." Vaughn shook his head. "This is destiny."

"Destiny?"

"When we were children, they promised us that if we studied hard and got into paying jobs after college we'd find happiness. We could do anything, that was what they said! Well, all these years later after I did all of that, I'm still waiting for the America and the life that was promised to me! But a few years ago, on a whim, I decided to dig into my family tree. A bunch of nobodies, losers, just like me… until I stumbled upon the name of Carleton Yager. A direct ancestor of mine. He wasn't a nobody or a loser. He got the respect and prestige that I wanted. And I realized that if I wanted to prove myself, I would have to hunt the ultimate game that he never succeeded in bagging. I trained myself. I thought around. And I realized that it was going to start with you. So Batman, what way do you want it? Quickly or slowly? Your hunt ends her"

Batman cut him off. Vaughn, in his ranting, had never realized Batman had been holding one hand behind his back. Holding and aiming two batarangs. The first batarang struck his hand, knocking the pistol from his hands. It clanked as it fell onto the floor. The second activated one of the traps. A binding net fell onto Vaughn, trapping him in place.

"What the hell?" He was screaming, thrashing.

"If you were such a good hunter, you should've known better than to step under one of your own tramps." Batman coldly remarked as he tread over the traps he had set up. "You're coming with me. Civilians shouldn't be packing heat of the magnitude you carry. The police will sure be interested in knowing how you acquired all of this."

"Son of a…" He was blaring obscenities. Thrashing about as Batman dragged him towards the main door.

"You know what separates me from you, Vaughn?" Batman asked. He only got more cursing as an answer.

"You what it is? I've got no overinflated sense of destiny like you do. My life is what I make of it."

"I'LL BE BACK! And this time I won't play fair! Tomorrow everyone's going to know your secret identity, Batman!" He continued thrashing in his binding, hopeless.

"Sure you will." Batman almost laughed. Sure, he could blow the beans about Dick. But you know, both he and Bruce had close friends on speed-dial. All it would take to shoot holes in the revelation was to get one of them to dress up and appear at the same time as him.

But Batman did not expect to hear the elevator come up. The ding as its doors slide open silenced both of them. Then he heard the voice.

"Ding." Then the voice mimicked the sound of the sliding elevator doors.

It was definitely not somebody returning from some late grocery shopping. Stepping out of the elevator into the hallway was a gaunt figure draped in a large black overcoat and wearing black gloves. His face was hidden by a full skintight hood he wore over his head, hiding it completely. Printed on the mask was a series of white circles forming a bullseye. In his hands were two semiautomatic handguns.

"What the hell is that?" Vaughn asked, his anger replaced by fear.

Before Batman could answer, the man lifted his hands and pulled the triggers. Two bullets hit Vaughn in the throat. He gurgled as blood gaped out of the wounds, weakly thrashing about.

"Gurgle." The man said, mimicking Vaughn's dying burbles.

That was a gimmick he hadn't encountered before. But in spite of it, he knew that this had to be one of the assassins hired. Batmen grit his teeth. Not now. But there would be no easy way out.

"He was delusional. A would-be killer. But he did not deserve to be gunned down in cold blood." Batman said to the assassin. "If you know what's smart, you'll toss down those guns. Or I'll show you what it's like to be on an operating table when I'm the surgeon."

The hooded man in black did not budge. Then after a silent stare-off between the two, he spoke again.

"Bang bang." By the way the hood contorted, it was like he was grinning underneath. And he opened fire.


	10. Author's Announcement: Going on Hiatus

Announcing this, even writing this, has been no easy feat for me. But I fear that due to workload I have on me outside of my FF writings, as well as the impossibility I've encountered in balancing two other on-going fics at the same time with this, A New Dawn will have to go on hiatus until further notice.

In addition to the reasons that I have mentioned above, there are some more personal reasons that I have for putting this story on hiatus. Regretfully, whether you will agree or not, I feel like I have bitten off too much and swallowed without chewing first. A New Dawn came from a desire to create my own iteration of the DC universe with multiple stories featuring my takes, to the degree that I even formulated an entire timeline for my fanmade universe. But the problem was that I looked too far ahead, with little focus on the road I was currently on. In the writing of A New Dawn I found myself caught between formulating the actual story and laying down bricks for what I intended to write later. And not all of it has worked out. In hindsight, some of the subplots that I've created feel extremely extraneous, especially when I consider them in the course that I had intended to take A New Dawn. Furthermore, a lot of the villain appearances I had planned especially those in the current arc I was writing, felt like over-glorified cameos stuck in for the sake of a fight upon reevaluation. I have also struggled to find what I feel is a proper tone for this story. As such, I feel that this would have lead to a disjointed story with too much on its plate had I taken A New Dawn to the conclusion that I had intended. Most disappointing of all to me is that after the completion of the Joker arc, the story no longer felt "fun" to write, and instead placing down each word felt more like a chore.

As a result, I feel that I need to take a little time off from this story while I clear my plate of bigger priorities. Reevaluate my long-term plans, see what works and what doesn't work. A New Dawn isn't cancelled, not yet. One day, if I feel that I'm ready, I'll come back and finish the story as I was originally going to write it, all disjointedness, all the extraneous appearances and subplots, essentially with everything but the kitchen sink. And I definitely do not intend to abandon my long-running universe plan - that too will undergo revision. But if A New Dawn does not wake up from its slumber, I preemptively apologize for letting down all the people who have added their follows, favorites, and reviews. You, reader, were part of the reason why I have kept going longer than I would've without. And if I do cancel A New Dawn, I will have to forever live with that shame of preventing you from experiencing a complete story.

If I choose the latter option, I will post one final update detailing the plans that I had for the rest of this story - the whole mess that was the second arc - a haphazard mishmash of the Black Mirror and the "some bad guy hires a whole bunch of people to kill Batman story #1304983" arcs from the comics, as well as the third and final arc of this story involving the story's version of Scarecrow as the main villain. The third arc may find its way to publication on this site someday, but there may be some elements altered - Dick may not be Batman, for example. I also plan to do the other three planned stories involving the Batman characters of the DCU and beyond (with two intended as direct sequels but if this does get cancelled, that may no longer be the case) that I had set in the same continuity as A New Dawn one day as well.

Once more, I apologize for letting down all you readers with this. Hopefully, one day, I can make it up to you. Until then, au revoir.


End file.
